Curiosity and the Cat
by Agent.Q.003
Summary: In Gotham, a town known for its questionable morals and high-risk business, a young heiress frequently falls victim to her own curiosity. When her powerful friends aren't around to keep an eye on her, she finds herself struggling just to stay alive.
1. Part 1, Chapter 1

_Just a Little Push_

"Charfield, I can't—no, _won't_—do this. It's stupid."

Amelia leaned back farther into the heated seat. She didn't take off her seatbelt, half-convinced that the driver would come to his senses and take her back to the estate where she belonged.

"But, Miss, your grandparents have ordered it. Plus, let's face it, your social skills could use a little work. School will be good for you."

"Mother would never make me do this. If they had wanted me to be social, I could have just volunteered at the hospital again."

"Yes, but you insisted on caring for the coma patients."

"So?"

"Coma patients _can't talk_."

"Oh whatever," she muttered under her breath and finally took off her seat belt. She swung her bag over her shoulder and tried to open the door in a huff, but the door wouldn't open no matter how hard she pushed on it. After a few more violent attempts and a bit of huffing and puffing, she demanded, "Charfield, how am I supposed to make a dramatic exit when you have the child lock on? Do you not know how these things work? Or maybe the universe just doesn't want me to go. These uniforms are stupid anyway. Besides, my social skills are just fine."

Charfield was already in the process of opening the door for her, having ignored what she was saying, and gave her a droll stare. "Have a good day at school, Amelia," he said with a flat voice, "I will be here to pick you up at 2:20."

With a grimace, Amelia made the first few steps toward Gotham Academy.

Oh god, what if they had a welcoming committee?

"Hi! Are you Amelia VanAlstyne?"

Amelia had to stop short before she almost ran into the small, brunette girl in her path. She was kind of hoping to avoid this kind of treatment. Stomach, meet lead brick. "Yes."

"Wow," Short Girl took a step back and took in Amelia's nearly six-foot frame with awe, "you're a lot taller than you look in the magazines."

"Uglier, too. So who are you?"

"Oh sorry! I'm Emily, the headmaster sent me to come get you. I have some stuff for you." Short Girl, Emily, produced a folder from the bag on her back and thrust it forward into Amelia's hands. "We're in the same first class, which we should probably be getting to. This way!"

Throughout the day Amelia had been called tall more times than she could count. Eventually her default response became, "Really? No one's ever told me that before. You're, like, really clever." Either no one had caught the sarcasm or everyone had chosen to ignore it, but regardless they all thought themselves to be besties with the VanAlstyne girl. And Amelia wouldn't have it any other way. If the headmaster told her grandfather that she was making friends quickly, perhaps he would let her leave.

If only she could be so lucky.

She was waiting for Charfield to pick her up out in the courtyard of the school when a boy strolled over to her with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Miss VanAlstyne, I just wanted to let you know that I hope you had a lovely first day at this, uh… fine institution. Don't let the leeches bother you, they'll leave you alone eventually. You're just fine, fresh meat right now."

That was funny, because he was the only one who had really bothered her yet today. Amelia pulled up the collar of her black trench coat against the cold, winter wind. She didn't like the way he leered over her, and she definitely didn't like that he was comparing her to meat products. She gave him a short glance before turning her gaze straight ahead and offering shortly, "Thanks for the advice."

"No problem. Oh, where are my manners?" He thrust forward his hand, forcing her to shake it. "My name is James, I'm a senior. Captain of the lacrosse team. You should come to one of our games some time."

"Totally cool. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Yeah? Well, I'm having a party this Saturday at the manor. Be there."

_Be there? _So he was ordering her around now? She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment so she didn't say anything too stupid. "You try really hard, don't you?"

His suave demeanor dropped immediately, but he tried to play it off. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'd be very careful about who I called a leach if I were you, James. Oh, and also, _I am not a conquest. _I would sooner chew off my own foot than date you."

Charfield pulled up in the car and she didn't even look back.

"Rough day, Miss?"

"I hate it here."

"Did you make any friends?"

"No."

"Well, were people nice?"

"Yes." When he didn't respond, she continued, "They looked at me a lot. Just looked. Like you know the fish in the dentists' office that eventually goes belly-up because the kids keep tapping on the glass like annoying little pricks? That's me."

He looked back at her in the rear-view mirror sympathetically. "It'll get better, Ames. It won't be bad forever."

"I suppose. Please don't call me that, Charfield."

"Yes, Miss."

"I don't suppose I can bribe you into doing my Accounting homework, can I?"

"Not a chance, but I'd be happy to help you with it." Charfield was insanely smart with business and money and whatever. He had graduated from some Ivy League school and was taking a few years off to pay off his loans before going back. He wasn't going to be working for the VanAlstynes his whole life, that much was certain. She had always known, and expected, that he would eventually leave and go work for some big business, or maybe even start one of his own.

Amelia had grown up with Charfield. His parents had always done security work for her family, so he'd always been around. He was just over six years older than Amelia and liked to think himself that many times wiser, but when it came down to it there was no one Amelia knew or trusted more.

So, naturally, when he later appeared in the doorway with his brows furrowed and his lips pursed into a thin line, Amelia knew she was in for hell.

"What is it?"

"Master Charles requests your presence in his office."

She glanced down at her Accounting textbook, suddenly longing to do nothing but sit and read. "As in immediately?"

"As in yesterday."

"Am I in trouble?"

"He didn't say, Miss, but he didn't look too happy."

"Alright, wish me luck." Amelia walked down the corridor and up the stairs to her grandfather's office door. She stood there for a moment to summon up all her courage, and rapped the thick wood lightly.

"Come in."

He didn't sound happy.

Her grandfather's large office contained a desk and enough books to fill a small library. Records, each precisely labeled in twelve-point Times New Roman font, directly in the middle. Each beetle-black leather book contained details about every shipment, every contract, every buyer, every seller, every good that had been in possession of VanAlstyne Shipping since Charles VanAlstyne had inherited it. It was difficult to tell from the way they were arranged, but each book was shut up tight with a polished silver lock, the key to which only her grandfather possessed. And that was only VanAlstyne Shipping, a division of VanAlstyne Corp that her grandfather had personally molded into the world's largest player in world ocean transportation. In the north wing, there was a large library full of nearly identical books dedicated to all of the corporation's other endeavors, mostly involving weapons manufacturing and technology.

At the moment he sat in his comfortable leather chair, glaring at her and silently fuming. His bushy white moustache hid his mouth from view, which Amelia was certain was gripped tight as a vise to keep from spewing insults.

As she waited for steam to come out of his ears, she contemplated on jumping out the grand window behind his desk, which overlooked the entire estate. It seemed to be her best bet.

"Grandfather?"

"Do you not understand why our business has stood strong since before the founding of this country, Amelia? Can you not fathom the great lengths countless generations of this family have gone to achieve such longevity?"

Deer in headlights. "Um… no, sir."

"Do you know how one develops an empire such as this?"

"No sir."

He slammed his hands down onto the wooden desk with a loud thud and stood up abruptly, which pushed his chair back a good two or three feet. "Politics. Politics and impartiality. Keeping your nose out of other men's business and your puckered lips on their ass cheeks."

"I don't understand."

"That boy you made a fool of happens to be a loyal client's son and heir to his family's business. As questionable as the morals of this business may be, I cannot have you ruining our name and thus the future of this company. I did not pay for your education so that you can take pretty pictures in designer clothing. I am sending you to this school so that when I leave VanAlstyne Corp. to you, you will have the connections necessary to make this company one you can leave to your children. This is not about education. I understand, you already have that, but an education will not make you money. Not in Gotham."

"Yes sir."

"I don't care whether you are repulsed by or in awe of some of these people, Amelia, but you _will _treat them with respect from now on or suffer the consequences." He sat back down in his chair with a heavy sigh, the tension gone.

"Yes sir. Is that all you wanted to speak to me about?"

He offered the smallest of smiles. "Yes, girl. You can go now."

It took Amelia a long time to wind down that night. She couldn't stop replaying the argument in her head. One little bit bothered her: _Impartiality. _Keeping your nose out of other people's business, despite morals.

She didn't let it bother her for long, soon her head was consumed with how the hell she was going to manage to make friends with these people. She was never particularly outgoing. When her family hosted parties, it was usually just older, drunken people initiating conversation. Honestly, outside of Charfield, she had only rarely interacted with kids her own age. She sat at her vanity, pulling the brush through her hair slowly and counting. One. Two. Three. All the way up to one-hundred. Her grey eyes were dull and tired.

Seventeen-year-olds were not this complex. She would manage. She'd have to.

Be friendly. Think friendly thoughts. Muster up some courage, be outgoing. Easy.

"Do you need anything, Miss Amelia?"

A tall, gangly-looking brunette girl stood in the doorway. She was new, or at least Amelia had never seen her before in her life.

It was worth a shot.

"Uh, no thanks. You're new here, right?"

"Yup! My name's Amber."

This girl really wasn't giving her much to go off of. Making conversation shouldn't be like speaking to a brick wall. Amelia took a deep breath. "So, Amber, what brings you here? Working, I mean."

"Oh, well…" she toed the ground and shrugged. "I needed to pick up a little extra cash for school."

"Yeah, that's actually what my friend Charfield is doing. He just graduated from Yale. What do you want to major in?"

The girl frowned and shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other. "Well, I don't really know yet. I think English. I'd love to be a professor someday."

"Yeah? I love reading. Check out the bookshelf over there!" Amelia placed the brush down and walked over to the looming shelves, completely stuffed with books. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Austen. Shakespeare. She loved her books. "Whenever I go somewhere I always stop by the used book store. I know it sounds funny, but a lot of the times they're the ones that have the really old, classic, perfect ones."

"No, that's cool… You have a lot of really good stuff, here."

"Thanks. Feel free to borrow some any time you want! Here," Amelia skimmed the stacks and pulled out a large book that contained the entire works of Edgar Allen Poe, "interested?"

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Not a problem at all, I assure you. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed and stop keeping you from your job. I don't want you to get into trouble."

"Not at all, thank you Miss! Good night!"

"Good night, Amber."

Miss Amber, consider yourself befriended. Maybe this outgoing thing wasn't going to be so hard after all. All it took was a little push to get the ball rolling.

The instant she walked into the dining hall all she could feel were eyes on her back. She'd heard a lot of people whispering about her earlier, but no one had really said anything of much importance. No one had bothered to talk to her, either.

If she had gotten herself blackballed on the first day, she would be both impressed and scared for her life. Her grandfather would cut her to ribbons and use her skin to tailor a leather coat.

She got a bottle of water and package of snack crackers from one of the vending machines and headed over to the library. She founda book containing the complete collections of Sherlock Holmes_, _and made her way back to the most unpopulated area of the stacks and took a seat on the cold, polished wood floor. It just so happened to be around a bunch of texts written in Chinese, so at least she wouldn't be distracted. Not that she didn't already know every twist and turn of the stories by heart already. Amelia knew the texts intimately, and had read them over and over many times. Sherlock Holmes was her one true love, closely followed by Mr. Darcy, of course.

"Oh, uh, sorry."

Amelia glanced up from her book. She had been so completely engrossed by the novel that she hadn't noticed the boy walk around the corner. "I'm in the way, aren't I? Here, sorry," she moved away from the side of the bookshelves he had his eyes on. He browsed for a while and she remembered what her grandfather had said in his office. She wasn't willing to suffer through any type of punishment he was prepared to dole out. Courage. "I didn't think anyone would be back here. I didn't think we had Chinese classes."

"We don't, but I've taken them in the past and I'm getting a bit rusty. I have some stuff I need to read for an… assignment."

"So basically you're a huge nerd."

He laughed as he pulled a book from the shelf and began reading the back of it. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way. Not exactly as _poetic _as I'd like, though. So, what's your deal?"

"What deal?"

"You're hiding in the bowels of the library during lunch hour. That seems a bit deal-ish to me."

"Yeah," Amelia put the book on her lap and frowned, "well, Gotham Academy and I are hitting a rocky point in our relationship. You know how it is, quick love-affairs like this. Fire and powder."

"Using my context clues, I'm assuming you're the VanAlstyne girl?" He tucked the book under his arm and leaned up against the shelves.

"I'm Amelia," she stated simply.

"Dick Grayson. Your relationship with Gotham Academy will improve with time. For the time being, everyone just thinks you're a little, uh…" he bit his lip, clearly searching for the proper word, "harsh, that's all. But they'll get over it eventually."

Amelia was going to be a fashionable coat very soon in the future. Her grandfather was going to kill her. If she'd managed to turn the school's population against her this quickly, imagine what damage she would be able to do for the rest of the year? They'd be chasing her out with knives and pitchforks like the county ogre. "What do you mean, harsh?"

"I say harsh, they say frigid bitch, but you know… sticks and stones."

"What? I'm friendly! I'm totally friendly! I'm Miss Friendly! Who wouldn't want to be my friend? I've been talking to you for five whole minutes and look, you're not exactly iced over."

He gave her the same doubtful look Charfield had given him before when she said she had good people skills. "You told James Moretti that you would rather cannibalize your own limbs than spend time with him. Harsh."

As if she hadn't gotten in trouble for that enough already. "Why does everyone keep bringing that up? It's not a big deal or anything. I was nice to everyone else all day, even when all they did was call me tall. Do you know how annoying that is?"

That was when she noticed Dick wasn't exactly the tallest. They were probably around the same height, which for a guy was pretty short, but he probably hadn't finished growing yet. "No, actually, I don't get that very often."

"Well, has anyone ever told you that your hair is black, Mister Grayson? Because I just have to say that your hair is just _so _black. Out of all the black hair I've ever seen, yours is by far the blackest. And don't get me started on the photographs, they do not do nearly enough justice to the utter blackness of your perfectly coiffed, ebony locks."

He ran his fingers through his hair with a smile. He pushed his bangs back, which stayed there for only a moment before flopping back into his forehead exactly as they had been previously. "You really think it's perfectly coiffed? That's sweet."

She rolled her eyes. "You're so proud of yourself."

"With reason. I mean, I do have perfectly coiffed ebony locks."

Amelia sighed animatedly and observed the boy for a short while. He looked so familiar. She'd definitely seen him before, or heard of him, or something. But she couldn't think of where she'd heard the name Grayson before. She didn't know of any Grayson family. But there was something—

"You're Richard Grayson!"

"Get out of town!"

"No, shut up, you don't understand. I mean, don't shut up, that's rude, I didn't mean that. No, but, you're Dick Grayson! You're the kid who lives with Bruce!"

Single eyebrow raise. He was starting to get a little afraid. Maybe this is what her grandfather had meant when he said that she was completely socially inept. "Yeah, and?"

"Nothing just… see, my grandfather told me that if I didn't make friends he'd turn me into the next spring fashion. Well not exactly in so many words, but you know where I'm going with this."

"So we become friends and you…?"

"…don't get turned into a coat." She paused for a moment to breathe. She had been speaking for so long and so quickly she had lost track of her own thoughts. She gathered herself together for a moment. Stomach, meet lead brick: part two. "Oh my God, you think I'm crazy. I'm sorry, it's just no one's talked to me all day and when I get nervous I run my mouth."

"Don't worry about it," he assured, "I'm used to fast talkers."

"But you still think I'm nuts."

"I never said that."

"You never denied it, either."

The bell rang. Saved by the bell. "Look at that, time to go to class!" He offered her his hand and helped her stand. "What do you have now?"

"Good question," Amelia glanced down at her schedule. "Abnormal Psych."

"So basically you're a huge nerd."

"You know, I actually prefer academically and intellectually inclined." She gave him a hard poke in the chest, "There you go—_poetry._"

"They still make you wear the suit when you're working nights, huh?"

Amelia had been having difficulty sleeping, so when she remembered that Charfield was working that night, watching the security cameras, she jumped at the opportunity. It pretty much meant that he'd be sitting on his laptop doing nothing, because nothing interesting ever happened in the manor. She'd thrown a warm sweatshirt on over her flannel pajamas, but she hadn't actually looked in the mirror until she had passed one in the hallway. Her dark brown hair stuck out at odd angles, so she tried her best to push the strands down with her fingers on the walk over.

He was leaning back in a swivel chair with his feet up on the counter, computer balanced on his lap. "What are you doing up? It's three in the morning."

"There are worse things I could be doing at three in the morning. And as my security guard, I believe you're the one obligated to keep me entertained in order to prevent me from doing such things." She rolled over another chair from the other side of the room and sat down beside him, pulling her knees up to her chest. "No, but really, do you want me to get you something more comfortable? Grandfather wouldn't mind."

"My parents would, though. I don't mind. It helps me stay awake."

"Are you still driving me to school tomorrow morning?"

"You bet."

"You're not going to be so over tired that you crash and kill me, are you?"

He gave her another one of his looks. She'd been getting those a lot lately. But it seemed like a good question from where she was sitting.

Charfield was about to say something when everything went completely black. All the monitors showed black rooms, and then not too long after the backup went and even the security room turned dark.

Amelia couldn't even see her hand a few feet in front of her face.

She could hear rummaging behind her, then a click and a dim light when Charfield finally found a dying flashlight. He tossed it to her and grabbed another from the drawer. "I'm gonna go see what's going on, you stay here."

"I need to pee."

"You can hold it."

"Tell that to my bladder."

"_Amy—" _

"It's winter. It's windy. My only concern is finding a toilet in time. Now you go do whatever security-guard-type thing you need to do, and I will go relieve myself. I have my phone on me. I'll call you if I get like, kidnapped by Santa Clause or something."

He bit his lip and obviously considered arguing further, but nodded and left. Amelia followed him out and walked down the corridor in the opposite direction. She hadn't lived in this house for more than a week, and she'd never been in this wing before.

So she may have lied, she didn't actually have to go to the bathroom. She couldn't pass up the opportunity to explore, and this just seemed to be a good opportunity.

She found a large set of decorative double-doors. Might as well start here.

She pushed open the heavy door and immediately her light bounced back at her from a large bay window. "Hello?"

No answer. Apparently none of the night staff was there cleaning when the power outage had occurred.

There were tons of reflective surfaces, which seemed to be little clear boxes displaying jewelry. Portraits of all of her ancestors lined the walls of the long room. There were even hand-carved marble busts of a few of her older relatives. How excessive could you get?

She opened the glass casing of a gorgeous ruby necklace and picked it up. The stone was surrounded by dozens of small diamonds, which glittered in the dim, flickering light provided by her flashlight. Who would leave something like this unlocked? It had to be an heirloom, worth a fortune.

Which is when she noticed the broken lock on the side of the case.

"I'll be taking that, sweetie," a sultry female voice practically purred against her neck.

Amelia jumped and whirled around, both knocking over the stand the case had been on and dropping her flashlight in the process. She backed up as far as she could and gripped the jewel tightly in her palm.

"Who are you?"

A figure stepped forward , but all Amelia could see was the silhouette of a masked woman wearing tight, black clothing. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Who the hell was this? Palms sweaty and chest heaving, Amelia struggled to swallow the accumulating saliva in her mouth. The woman took one step forward. Two. Amelia could feel the wet spot on her neck where the woman's lips had been turn cold.

"_I'm _not the one you need to worry about, little girl. I won't hurt you. I even think you're cute." Her voice dripped with sexuality as the woman strolled slowly forward. A gloved finger lingered in her mouth, and her tongue darted out quickly and gave it a small lick. "Your good old granddaddy, on the other hand, oh, now _he's _a bad man. What do you think he'll do when he finds out his sweet little lamb just handed over his great, great grandmommy's pretty jewels?"

"My grandfather loves me," Amelia growled angrily, completely losing her senses and taking a step toward the woman. "And when he finds out what you've done, he'll have you hunted down and thrown in Arkham to rot. That is, if I can convince him to let you live."

The woman pushed her roughly against the wall and pressed her lips against Amelia's ear, then hissed sarcastically, "Oh, I'm sure he loves you, sweetie. Just ask Melissa Vega." She pried Amelia's hand open and snatched the necklace, placing it into the front of her shirt. "Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Amelia VanAlstyne."

A dark figure appeared over the woman's shoulder.

Charfield.

Finally.

"You're welcome. There's someone behind you, by the way."

The woman's eyes went wide for a moment before her expression twisted into pure rage. That was when everything went black.

A/N: I had a lot of issues deciding how to categorize this, but I eventually decided to put this in the Young Justice category just because I use their characterization of Dick Grayson and such, and I also feel like I don't know enough about the comics to put anything in the comics category and didn't want to make anyone mad with my lack of knowledge. The timeline is wrong, but I'm okay with that.

Also, this is primarily about an OC for now. I know people tend to dislike them, but… yeah. The first arc of this story is more introductory, and eventually a much larger cast of our favorites will be introduced in later chapters. This chapter is also really slow and choppy, since I wrote it so long ago. Oops.


	2. Part 1, Chapter 2

Amelia felt nauseous, but it was the wind rushing past her ears that made her eyes snap open.

She was hurtling toward the ground.

She stared flailing and screaming when she noticed that someone was holding onto her. He grunted and gripped onto her tightly.

That didn't change the fact that they were still _headed straight for the ground._

It all happened in a split second, but suddenly they were headed up again. The moon rushed to meet her. Her stomach hadn't caught up yet. Vomit rose in the back of her throat.

"What…?"

And then they were on the balcony outside her bedroom.

"You were supposed to _stay _unconscious. You know, it's kind of hard to be heroic when you let the damsel in distress fall to her death."

The lights were back on, and Amelia could finally get a good look at the boy. Or, rather, didn't. He was wearing a mask, too. And a cape.

Seriously. She had heard stories about Gotham, Batman, and the Justice League, but… that was all they were supposed to be. Stories. Not real. She'd had enough of masked crazy people for one night.

"Not another one." She shoved him in the chest as hard as she could. "Put. Me. Down! What is _wrong _with you people? Why are you wearing tights?"

But then, like smoke in the wind, he had disappeared.

How the hell.

She was still out of breath when Charfield burst through the door with about half a dozen police officers. Before she could say anything, he had crossed the room and pulled her into a tight bear-hug. "Char," she said slowly to keep her voice from shaking. "I'm fine. A little light-headed, that's all. She wasn't going to hurt me."

"She knocked you out."

"And that boy and someone else, someone bigger, picked me up and waltzed me back into my bedroom in a bout of completely unnecessary theatrics. I thought it was you, but obviously not. Get off." She gave him a little shove. "I told you, it's no big deal."

One of the police officers came forward after they were done searching her room and frowned, "Are they gone?"

"I don't know, as far as I can tell."

"All right… we're going to have to keep you up with a little bit of questioning, Miss VanAlstyne, but then you'll be free to go back to bed."

Charfield looked angry. "She needs sleep."

"Like I said, kid, this won't take very long."

…

"You look like you had a rough night," Dick observed before biting into his sandwich.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Like I haven't heard that yet today. People I don't even know have been coming up to me asking for the latest scoop."

"And?"

"You too?" She raised her eyebrows at him from behind the cup of coffee seated on her lips. "It was just like you saw on the news—some nut-job who belongs in Arkham broke in during the storm and stole some junk. I mean yeah, I left a little out, but really wasn't the big deal everyone is making it out to be."

He frowned. "What didn't you tell the police?"

"What are you, a reporter? That creep kid, what's his name, Sparrow—"

"—Robin."

"...whatever. I don't know when, but at some point Boy-fucking-Wonder must have broken _back _in. I woke up and that stupid necklace was on my nightstand. Crazy, right? Who does that?"

They sat in quiet and ate for a little while, but then he mentioned, "You know, it could have been worse. At least he gave it back."

"Not really. If you want to give something back, you do it like a normal person and send it in a package or through the front door. You don't break into someone's room _when they're sleeping. _I don't know what you call it in Gotham, but in the rest of the world we call that creepy."

He didn't respond.

"There was also something else I never mentioned," she started, "It was just something she said."

But she couldn't get it out of her head. It didn't sit in her stomach well.

"You had a conversation with Catwoman?"

"Is that her name? I guess it explains the ears. She basically insinuated that my grandfather was a total douche. Mentioned some girl. Melissa V-something? She was probably just messing with my head, but it was oddly specific."

"That is strange."

"Right? I told her she was crazy. But then Bat-dude showed up and she knocked me out."

Dick laughed. "You're calling a vigilante who strikes fear into the hearts of hardened criminals Bat-dude? And you're calling Catwoman crazy?"

"I'm calling the lot of them crazy. You don't need to wear a mask and go jumping around on rooftops. Especially not in a city as gone to shit as this one. That's stupid." Amelia shrugged and pushed aside her lunch, no longer hungry. "You supposedly have this large network of the best there is to offer, wasting their time trying to protect terrible people. Everything here is so backwards."

His smile faded and he lounged back in his chair. She could see the v-shape forming in his brow. "Well, what else would you suggest?"

Amelia's head tilted. She'd never thought about it much. An alternative to these 'heroes'? She'd grown up seeing them on the news, but was always so skeptical. But now she was in Gotham, a city with its own patron saint. Some of the population worshiped the ground he walked on, others wanted his head on a spike. She considered it for a short while. "Let them all destroy themselves. As you make your bed, so you must lie in it."

"But they're not all terrible people, they just haven't been given an opportunity—"

"—you can't sit around and wait for other people. You need to take ownership of your own life and hold yourself accountable. You can't _depend_ on anyone."

What she had intended to be a calm, lax statement ended up coming out rushed and angry. And Dick was just sitting there, staring at her. Staring. Glaring? She couldn't quite tell. Her stomach sank. Stupid, Amelia. Stupid. No wonder she didn't have any friends. She wouldn't want to be friends with her either.

She laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Someone got knocked on the noggin a little too hard. Sorry about that, I just…" but there was no explanation. She looked to her phone like she had just gotten a text message, even though she hadn't. "I have to go. Charfield is picking me up early. I need to go get some sleep."

As she picked up her loaded tray to dump it, she heard him say something along the lines of, "Nothing to worry about, feel better." He kept talking, but at that point she had already turned around and was walking in the opposite direction, so she didn't catch any of what he had said.

She headed to her locker and texted Charfield, _Come get me. Now._

It took less than thirty seconds for him to reply, _On my way._

…

Amelia was awoken by the sound of her phone ringing. She pushed the heavy comforter off of her torso so that she could maneuver herself around her pillows, searching for the damned thing. Once she had found it wedged between a pillow and her headboard, and after a bit of fumbling, she brought it to her ear. "Hmmmm? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Precisely five thirty-six pm." Dick Grayson's voice mocked her over the phone. She could imagine the smirk on his face that would come from thinking he outsmarted her.

"It's two am somewhere."

"So, I was kind of curious about what you were saying earlier, so I looked it up… I think the girl Catwoman was referring to was Melissa Vega, sound familiar?"

This would be easier understood if she wasn't just coming out of a deep slumber. Amelia flicked on the lights and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Uh… yeah. That's the girl. What about her?"

"This article says that she used to work for your family twelve years ago."

"So? Lots of people have worked for my family."

"Well, I guess she went missing. She completely wiped her family's bank accounts and ran. No one has ever seen her since. She left behind her father, sister, and newborn daughter that all depended on her income."

"That doesn't make much sense, then. It has nothing to do with my grandfather." Which meant that freak must have just been messing with her head. Maybe they were in on it together, stealing to get even more money and just trying to make a clean escape. If Vega had worked here before, it would make sense that she could tell someone how to break in and split the profits that came from the stolen goods.

"I know, but… I was curious, so I found their current address. If you ever feel the need, we could go check it out."

"I don't see the point."

"Me either, honestly, but just let me know if you do. It's not in one of the greatest areas, you probably shouldn't go alone."

Amelia laughed. "No offence, Dick, but if I were to bring someone along for protection it would probably be Charfield. Not that you're not intimidating, but you're kind of as scary as a pair of bunny slippers. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, of course."

"I was thinking more along the lines of power in numbers. You're just ruthless."

"What can I say, I have a reputation to uphold. And there's something about the near pocket-protector level of nerdiness you have going on that doesn't exactly scream 'defender of damsels'." There was a long moment of silence. "Have you ever thought a word so many times in your head that it starts sounding weird?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I was thinking about ruth_less. _Does that mean if you're merciful you're just ruth? Can you be ruth_ful_?"

"I don't think it works that way. English just doesn't make any sense." He paused a moment and let out a short laugh. "Alright, well, I have to go. Let me know if you want that address later."

"Sure thing. See you later."

"Bye."

…

Amelia's grandfather had decided that it would be best for her to take the day off in order to fully recover, especially after having only been able to stand a half day previously, which of course meant that she ended up sleeping well past her usual early morning alarm. She probably wouldn't have woken up at all if it hadn't have been for Charfield waking her up around ten, telling her that she was being summoned to have brunch with her grandparents in the next half hour.

She dressed in an uncomfortable sun dress and followed him out to the sunroom. At least one of them knew where they were going.

"It's winter. I feel stupid."

When he didn't respond, she glanced up at him. He hadn't even looked at her, but all she could notice was that _he _was wearing a thick suit. And she looked stupid. Leave it to her grandmother to insist on having brunch in a greenhouse.

She hadn't really understood what Charfield had meant when he had described it, but when they finally arrived she was hit with a wall of spring heat. It was a bright room, full of flowers. She followed the stone pathway around until she found her grandparents seated at a neatly made table.

She turned to comment to Charfield about the heat, but he had already disappeared.

"Come, darling, sit!" Amelia's grandmother insisted as she had a servant pour her a mimosa. "You look lovely. Did your mother buy you that dress?"

Amelia gulped the drink faster than was probably ladylike. "No," she replied curtly. "Ellie picked it out." Ellie McKnight was Charfield's mother, who would come with her whenever she felt like shopping. She had tried to take Charfield shopping once when she was younger. It had ended up a disaster; one Amelia didn't like to think about much.

Grandmother eyed Amelia's gulping with pursed lips. "I've always loved that woman. So tasteful."

"Yup."

There was an awkward pause before her Grandmother mentioned casually, "So, I hear you've already made friends with Bruce Wayne's boy. He's quite handsome, yes?"

Stomach, meet butterflies. Amelia's face flushed. She hated it when old people asked her about this sort of stuff. It always happened at social events. It would be her and a bunch of old people asking her when she was planning on getting married, and if there was some special boy out there. Amelia had never thought much about marriage. She had always just figured that she'd find some wealthy-enough guy who would leave her alone just to make her grandparents happy.

"Dick? We're friends, yeah," she said, maintaining a very bored expression and tone. "He's a huge nerd. Doesn't have many friends."

"Well, your grandfather was very pleased, right Charles?"

Grandfather shrugged. "A friendship with a member of the Wayne family could very well prove to be useful in your future. Very interesting, the Waynes."

Grandmother gave him a small hit on the shoulder. "Charles, that's enough business for one morning. This is supposed to be about giving Amelia some time to _relax._" She rolled her eyes exasperatedly and reached across the table to grab Amelia's wrist as she was reaching for a scone. Amelia's stomach grumbled unhappily. "We're so happy to finally have you here with us, darling. And we're both very sorry about the break-in. I assure you, nothing has ever happened like that before, and we've increased security tremendously since then. We want you to feel safe. This is your new home. If you ever have any concerns, feel free to address them."

Amelia shrugged and ate in silence for a while, then asked, "Oh, actually… have you ever heard of Melissa Vega? That woman mentioned her really briefly. I was just wondering if anyone actually knew who she was."

Grandmother frowned for a moment in deep thought, then shook her head. "No, dear, I can't say I've ever heard that name."

"I didn't think so, apparently she worked here."

"Sorry, nothing. Charles, you have a better memory than I, do you have any idea who this girl is?"

Amelia looked to her grandfather, who shook his head and took a sip of his black coffee. "I remember that she used to work here, and that now she doesn't. That's all I know."

Grandmother looked at her with eyes full of concern. "It's probably best that you don't take anything that awful woman said to heart, darling. She was just trying to manipulate you, that's all. Don't think anything of it, not for one second."

The problem with telling Amelia _not _to think about something was that it, of course, then found itself permanently branded into her brain. She finished her meal quickly, the fuzziness in her head from the alcohol diminishing as she ate more. She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced. If she was going to make a habit of eating brunch with her grandparents, she would definitely need to start working out even more than she did already.

She excused herself, and after a long run she sat on her bedroom floor, toweling her freshly washed hair. Her fingers lingered over book bindings. She'd always thought of her books as her friends, but the more she started making friends with actual _people, _the less magic their pages seemed to contain.

Amelia handed her towel to an older, male servant standing by her door. "Have you seen Amber? Is she working today?"

"No, Miss, I'm sorry. She was supposed to be working today, but she hasn't shown up in the last few days. Your grandparents never seem to keep the maids very long, so I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't come back. If I may ask, Miss, were you friends?"

"Kind of, I mean, I barely knew her." Amelia frowned. "She was really nice, though. I let her borrow one of my books."

"Well, then, your grandparents do keep a record of all of the staff members here at the estate. If you would like to get in touch with the young lady, all you would have to do is find her contact information from there, Miss."

Frist friend in Gotham, gone without a word. Great.

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

…

Amelia tossed the basketball as hard as she could with both hands. It collided with the ground with a loud _thunk _and bounced up into Charfield's waiting hands. He spun it distractedly between his index fingers. "So, I gather you haven't made many friends in Gotham yet."

"What gave you that idea? With my sunny disposition, I'm a hot commodity. I'm overwhelmed with the amount of friend requests I've been getting." They tossed the ball back and forth with each exchange.

Charfield frowned. "Amelia, you need to put forth some effort and try to be friendly to these people. You live in Gotham now. Permanently. This isn't some vacation where you can get away with being a smartass to everyone."

"I _am _trying!" She caught the ball and placed it against her hip, casting him an indignant glare. "I even made friends with that girl who worked here, but she quit. It's not my fault no one ever sticks around."

She threw the ball back at him with such force that it slammed into his chest and nearly knocked the wind out of him. He coughed out, "I'm talking about becoming friends with your peers. You can't be friends with your servants."

"Well, we're friends, aren't we? I don't see the difference."

He didn't respond.

"Charfield?"

The look on his face said it all. He didn't even have to say anything, she'd known him long enough to know that behind his grimace and downcast gaze was the word _no. _He would never consider her a friend.

She remembered an argument they'd had before. They were both much younger, and he had been much less reserved. He had called her some pretty terrible things, most of which she probably deserved. Ignorant. Spoiled. Selfish. Immature. He'd painted such an ugly picture of her that she still found his insults embedded in her memory. When he came back from college he seemed a lot nicer. They got along much better. She'd assumed that he'd forgotten. That they could be friends.

But apparently he was just acting. Pretending, for her sake.

"Oh, screw you. I don't need your charity."

Amelia turned on her heel and left, ignoring his calls and attempts to reconcile. Her fingers itched, and the farther into the manor she moved the more trapped she felt. She stared out the window, up at the clear blue sky. It looked deceivingly sunny and warm out, despite the cold temperatures and recent snowfall.

_I want out._

She pulled out her phone and texted Dick, _What was that address?_

A few minutes later she was in the middle of dressing in a warm trench coat and putting on a scarf when he texted her the address, then sent a follow-up, _I get out of class soon. Wait until I get out?_

_No need. I'll be fine, thanks. See you tomorrow._

Melissa Vega, consider yourself a perfect distraction on a terrible, boring afternoon.


	3. Part 1, Chapter 3

Amelia had never really been in the heart of Gotham before. She'd only visited VanAlstyne towers two, maybe three times in her life. But this was as different from the towers as night is from day. She'd always thought people were exaggerating when they said Gotham was a cesspool. She'd never really understood what they meant when people said that there was a thick layer of smog that covered the inner city, but now she did. This was a totally different world than what she was used to. Instead of the sounds of stilettos _click-click-clicking _on marble floors and the whirring of technology, her ears were assaulted with baby cries, breaking bottles, people yelling, squealing tires, and gunshots somewhere off in the distance.

And this was supposed to be _better _than it used to be. Because of Gotham's guardian. Some man who dressed up as a bat and went around punishing criminals.

A disturbed hero for a disturbed city. A chill ran up her spine, but it wasn't from the cold. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets and started to wonder whether or not she should have taken Dick up on his offer to meet her.

It was clear that she didn't belong, a fact that was only made more apparent with each step she took. People were staring to take notice, but no one had actually done much yet. She'd gotten a couple whistles and snide comments thrown her way, but that was the most of it. It helped that no one knew who she was. She wasn't like many of the kids at her school, who had grown up on the covers of Gotham's newspapers. She wasn't like the golden-boy, Bruce Wayne, who everyone recognized. To them, she probably just looked like some yuppie in a nice coat. They didn't know who her grandfather was, and they didn't care. She had a name, but not a face.

_Almost like a mask._

The thought made her sick, but she had to admit to herself that it was probably ideal. She had a feeling that her situation would be roughly a million times more dangerous than it was now if it wasn't for that.

But still, she should have at least taken _something _with her. A knife, _anything _would be better than walking naked down these streets.

Everything was about appearances. If she kept her head high and acted like she belonged there, maybe no one would notice that she didn't. After all, it wasn't all that strange to see someone in nice clothing down here. In fact, just across the street was a nice restaurant and bar where James Moretti I met with clients. The only difference was that almost nothing Moretti did was legal, and that he probably owned half of the people on this street that were dangerous to begin with.

Maybe she shouldn't have publicly chastised his son. Could James hold that much of a grudge? He hadn't really talked to her much. The day after the whole Catwoman incident, she had woken up to find a huge bouquet of white roses from him outside her door. It had a letter in it, but she'd never bothered to open it. Actually, she hadn't even paid the flowers much attention until she came home from school and the maid had put them on her bureau. He said hello to her in the hallway and goodbye when Charfield would come and pick her up, but besides that he'd been pretty good about giving her space.

She locked eyes for just a moment with one of what had to be Moretti's men standing outside the door of the diner, with his coat that bulged in a few places where his weapons were obviously placed to ward off anyone who would try to start any trouble. His eyes searched her face, Amelia figured probably trying to figure out who she was or why she was here, and then his chin inclined threateningly. _Keep walking, _his countenance said. Which meant he probably didn't recognize her, and figured that anyone coming through this area of the city, dressed as she was, was up to no good.

She hadn't planned on stopping, though, so that was just fine with her.

After a few more minutes of walking she came upon the address Dick had sent her. It was a tall, multi-family home with a small, screened-in front porch that currently contained piles of old newspapers and dirty toys that probably hadn't been touched in years. She knocked on the door and hoped Dick had given her the right address.

Given the fact that Melissa's last name was Vega, she had expected a family of Spanish heritage. So when a tall, blonde woman with blue eyes answered the door, she was a little thrown off. The woman looked Amelia up and down. "We're not interested in joining your church group, little girl," she said in a cold, heavy German accent. "Go home before you get hurt."

She was about to shut the door when Amelia shoved her foot in it at the last second. "Wait!" she managed, her mind still struggling to keep up with what was happening. "I'm not with a church. I was wondering if you knew Melissa Vega."

The woman's eyes narrowed and she looked down at Amelia threateningly. It was then that Amelia realized that this woman was very tall. Probably a few inches taller than Amelia, who was used to being the tallest one in the room. Only her mother and grandfather were capable of making her feel small. But with the extra height the step up into the house provided, this angry German woman towered over her. "What do you want?"

What did she really want? Amelia bit her lip. "Well, I just have a couple questions… it's kind of a long story."

The woman huffed, then stepped to the side. "Fine. Come inside."

After suppressing a small feeling of apprehension, Amelia followed the woman through the house. It wasn't a total wreck, it was just falling apart. It was spotless and well taken care of, just really old. It was the house of a family that didn't have the means to afford anything better, and did the best with what they could. She was lead into a living room and instructed to sit. The fabric of the cloth couch was pulled in places and looked to be from the eighties. Across from her was a fireplace with dozens of pictures crammed onto it. Most of the photos were of a small brunette girl, ranging from baby photos to what appeared to be elementary school graduation ceremonies.

"Helga, who is this?"

A little old man entered the room from the kitchen area, and looked over at Amelia. He looked friendly enough.

"This is… what's your name?"

"My name is Amelia VanAlstyne," Amelia explained, and told them the story about what had happened when Catwoman had broken into her home. "I mean, I figure it's nothing too important, I was just curious to see who this woman was. I couldn't stop thinking about her."

The old man was quiet for a while. He seemed very far off, probably lost in past memories. Eventually he picked one of the photographs off of the mantle. It had been hidden in the back, tucked behind a photograph of the smiling little girl and Helga, who must be her aunt. "My daughter's maiden name is Schoenherr. She became Melissa Vega when she married Christian Vega, a police officer. Unfortunately for him, Christian was a good man. Like many good men in Gotham's police force, he was eventually found at the bottom of the river." He took a few small steps toward Amelia and handed her the photograph, "This was her."

_This was her._

The old man thought his daughter was dead. It was probably easier than believing that she would run away and leave everyone stranded with no income to starve.

Amelia glanced down at the photograph. The first thing she noticed was a smiling Hispanic man and a little baby with big brown eyes. She thought about how this little half-Spanish girl would never fit in with her blonde-haired-blue-eyed family's photographs. She would always stick out, just like Amelia did in her own family photos. She must have been a constant reminder of her father, just as Amelia's own dark hair served to show that she didn't _quite _belong.

And there, looking down adoringly at the baby, was Melissa Vega. It may have just been the fact that she was reminiscing, but Amelia was amazed at how much the woman looked like her own mother.

"She's beautiful."

Helga frowned and crossed her arms. "She _was. _My younger sister was a good girl. After Christian was killed, she went to go work for _your _family. She worked all the time to support us all, since I wasn't allowed to work at the time. Everything was fine, and then a couple of months later, she was gone."

Amelia was starting to feel uncomfortable with the levels of tension in the room and shifted in her seat. She didn't care much for Helga's accusatory tone, either. "My friend said she left. She took all her money and took off."

Helga rolled her eyes. "That's what they say," she said sarcastically, "but really, Melissa had a one-year-old to take care of. She would never leave Isabelle. I told those cops they were full of shit, but no one believed us."

She wanted to fight back. Amelia wanted to argue with every bone in her body, but that little old man with his sad eyes just sat down on the couch, gazing out the window. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks, and Amelia swallowed both her comments and pride. She placed the photograph carefully down on the coffee table and stood up. "Thank you very much for your time." She looked over at Melissa's father, who was in a different world. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Someone had been following her for quite some time. Amelia had only been able to see him as a reflection in windows and in her phone, so she couldn't make out his face. She'd made a couple turns and crossed the street in random places just to make sure that he wasn't just going to the same place she was. But he'd followed her across a dangerous intersection and cut through the middle of the street through heavy traffic.

Again, she remembered Dick's warning, and kicked herself for not waiting up for him. Dick may be a little nerd, but she would seriously appreciate having him around for number's sake.

She frowned and glanced down at her phone. She really didn't want to do this.

She dialed Charfield's number, and he answered halfway through the first ring.

"Amelia."

He sounded angry.

"Charfield."

"Where did you go?"

"You know," she mused, not really caring whether she pissed him off or not, "that's a really good question. Why don't _you _figure that out, considering that that's your job and all. I can't make it too easy. I wouldn't want to give you the feeling that you're not working for your money."

"Amelia—"

"Also, I may want to mention that we're on a bit of a time crunch because I'm currently being stalked by the boogey man."

"That's not funny."

"You're telling me. I think he may be armed."

"Are you kidding?"

"You know I have no sense of humor. I'm Miss Serious."

"Amelia," he warned, his voice suddenly turning into a low growl, "if you're in trouble, you need to tell me where the hellyou are right now or so help me god you won't need to worry about what anyone _else_ will do to you."

"You know, that's kind of funny considering that _you're _the reason I'm out here to begin with. I mean, I would have asked a friend to come with me, but then I realized that oh, right, _I don't have any._" Amelia stopped and looked around. "I'm by some run down opera house in downtown Gotham. It looks like it's been closed for a while."

As she listened to him typing in the background, she took the time to look at her reflection in the one window of the building that wasn't completely broken in. The man hadn't crept up on her further, and was now leaning up against a light post smoking a cigarette.

She didn't quite understand why he wouldn't keep coming for her. To be honest, it seemed like a prime kidnapping opportunity. Not that she wanted to be kidnapped, but it wasn't like she'd never thought about what it would be like before.

"Alright," she heard Charfield say in her ear and suddenly realized that she was still on the phone with him. "I'm on my way. Try your best to get somewhere more public, like a restaurant or something. I'll come find you."

"And always look both ways before crossing the street. I know. Thanks, _mom_."

"Amelia."

"What?"

He let out a long sigh and said quickly, "Stay safe."

Then there was a click, and he had hung up.

She continued walking toward VanAlstyne towers and made sure to keep an eye on the man following her. She was passing an old pastry shop she had seen on her way into the city. It had large display windows, so she was able to stand back and get a good luck.

The man seemed normal enough. Middle-aged. Not very mean looking.

Then, there was a black blur, and he was gone. He disappeared.

What the hell was wrong with this city? Weird shit happened around every corner, but at least that problem was taken care of. She returned her pocket and realized that she was starting to get hungry. She considered going into the pastry shop and grabbing a doughnut, but Camille would probably kill her. Camille was a popular designer around the Gotham area, a friend of Amelia's mother, and she liked to use Amelia in her advertisements. Amelia wasn't a huge fan of modeling, but it was something she could do to occupy her time and save herself from crippling boredom.

There were worse things she could be doing.

Like being a crack addict with a nasty heroin habit.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she answered without looking at it. "Charfield, what's taking you so long? I'm going to starve and rot away before you get here."

"Hey, it's me," Dick's voice said breathlessly, "so I take it you're back from the Schoenherr's?"

"Were you just running?"

"Something like that."

"I hope you're not taking that thing I said earlier about not being intimidating too seriously. If you get too buff you'll become a lady's man and then you won't want to be friends with me."

"You don't think I'm a lady's man?"

"That depends. Only if the ladies have braces and love Star Trek. But I did just get back, want me to come over and give you the details?"

"Do you know where I live?"

Amelia laughed. "Yeah, me and the rest of the city. It's not like Bruce isn't Gotham's golden boy or anything. I mean, really, when you think of Gotham you think of two things: Bruce Wayne, first, then Bat Freak." She heard a loud engine roar, and then her black car rolled around the corner. It looked so out of place, and everyone around her just kind of stood still and stared at it. "I have to go, my McKnight has arrived. I'll see you soon."

Charfield parked illegally in the middle of the road and got out of the car. He was about to walk around to open the door for her when she snapped, "I can get my own door. You just get in the car."

She sat in the back and sunk down in the seat, thankful for the tinted windows because everyone was staring. He started driving and glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Are you alright?"

"They ripped my fingernails off with pliers and took my wallet, but I think I'll pull through with a little therapy."

"Amelia," he started slowly, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, "you were in _danger. _You could have been _killed. _You can't run off like that without at least telling me."

Well, it wasn't like he wanted her around. And he wasn't exactly chasing after her on her way out the door. Amelia rolled her eyes. "You're right, how rude of me to have wasted your time. My most sincere apologies, Mr. McKnight. It won't happen again."

"This is serious," he growled through gritted teeth.

"You think I don't know that?" she asked, her voice growing in pitch and volume, "You think I wasn't scared? Because I sure as hell was." She was yelling now, leaning forward in her seat and gripping the leather seats so hard she left crescents in them with her fingernails. "I just don't think that's any of your god damned business! Now why don't you just shut the fuck up and do the job I pay you to do? That's what you want, isn't it?"

Amelia was breathless now, and wiped angry tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand. "Take me to Wayne manor," she ordered curtly. The rest of the drive passed in silence, until they arrived. Charfield didn't move from his seat, or even let go of the wheel for that matter. "Aren't you going to open the door?"

"No." It wasn't until then that she noticed the total rage present in his face. He stared forward into nothing, his shoulders tense, and his knuckles white and shaking. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. She could feel the tension in the air, and her ears rung. Eventually, he continued, "You can't take things I _didn't even say _and hold them against me. _I would die for you. _And you _know _that. So don't you dare say that your safety is none of my business. You know better."

Amelia didn't say anything for a long time and sat quietly. She didn't really know what to say. At first, she thought about everything she had just done and felt embarrassed for everything she said and all her rash behavior. But then the enormity of it all dawned on her and she felt completely stupid. She did know better. After all, when that psychotic woman broke in and threatened her, who did she instantly think was there to save her? Not some costumed hero, that's for certain.

"I made an old man cry today," she found herself spewing out like word vomit, "I went to Melissa Vega's house and they said that she had to be dead because she would sooner die than leave her daughter. I told them they were stupid and that she probably took all their money get away from such a hell hole and be free of such needy little leaches. And he cried."

Charfield's face fell. "You didn't…" he said softly.

"No," she confessed, "but I wanted to. They're so stupid, Char. They're so poor and ugly. They think so highly of themselves, like there's _no way _that she could have left their dumb asses behind because they're just _so _important and irreplaceable. Who thinks like that? They're all stupid and I hate them. She looked just like my mom, too. Fitting, right?"

It took Charfield only a few seconds to get out of the driver's seat, walk around the car, sit beside her in the back, and pull her into another of his tight bear hugs. She'd been needing a lot of those lately. He rocked her gently and she could feel him kiss the top of her hair softly. "Calm down, you're alright," he assured in a low voice.

That was when Amelia realized she was crying. She'd been so upset before that she didn't realize the tears that had streamed down her face and were now soaking through the front of Charfield's blazer. She hated crying. People were ugly when they cried, and Amelia tried her best to avoid it altogether when she could help it. And when she couldn't, she always made sure to do it by herself where no one could see.

There was something soothing about the way his thumb rubbed up and down gently on her arm, and she quickly found herself catching her breath and breathing in the faint scent of his cologne. "I'm sorry," she hiccupped. "This is embarrassing."

"There's no need to be embarrassed. I mean, really, I saw you go through puberty. I've seen worse. Have you seen the Christmas card from when you were thirteen?"

"You're an ass."

"I know," he sighed. "Your mother," he tread carefully, "what she did wasn't fair. Okay? It wasn't normal. Any parent would be lucky to have you. And you're not being _selfish _by being upset about her leaving. You need to understand that. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," she agreed and untangled herself from his grip. She wiped her face on her sleeve and checked herself to make sure she looked presentable, then made to get out of the car. Except the door didn't open. "Uh oh. Charfield, you didn't fix the child lock yet, did you?"

"Oh _shit_," he swore and tried to climb up into the front seat, but his shoulders were too large and he was too tall. He wasn't fitting very well, though it was a funny sight. Like watching a baby trying to fit a square peg into a circular hole. "Amelia," he snapped accusingly, "why is your car so small?"

"It's a Maserati, C_harfield_, it's supposed to be small." She grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him into the back. "Maybe if you weren't so fat you'd actually fit," she joked and started to climb through, "let me." It was funny, of course, because Charfield was extremely athletic. You don't hire chubby people to serve as body guards, that would be stupid. He couldn't fit through because his shoulders were too broad for the small opening between the seats.

She eventually got up and went around the car and opened the door for him. "Don't get used to this, kid. And next time I see this car, I better be able to open my own door."

He rolled his eyes, ignored her, and drove away.


	4. Part 1, Chapter 4

Dick had gotten in just as Amelia arrived, and he took her up to his room and flopped down on the couch at the end of his bed. She sat on the opposite end of the chair and watched him play the videogame he had just purchased as they discussed what had happened in town.

His brow furrowed in thought as a new level loaded. "I don't know. Everything sounds pretty…" he searched for a word, "unrelated. Honestly, I think she was just trying to make you second-guess yourself. Think about it: Catwoman breaks into your house. Granted, she usually makes sure to only steal from scumbags, but she may have figured you're family's so rich you could handle it. Maybe you don't give enough to charity. Whatever, she'll go a long way just to justify stealing things."

The thought sat uneasily in her stomach. "I guess," she agreed warily.

"She sees you, and you give her a hard time. She probably didn't even plan for you to be living there when she broke in. She thinks, 'How can I get her out of the way?' She thinks of the first thing she can. Pulls some random name out of her head she found while researching how to break into the house. Once you're busy thinking of other things, she can distract you, finish the job, and go. That's all."

Everything he had just said made sense. It was completely logical, but still Amelia wasn't sure if she totally believed it. The other woman had seemed so in control, like everything was going the way she had wanted. The low purr of her voice resonated in Amelia's head and made her ears ring. "Maybe, but don't you think it's a little strange that she just happened to mention a woman who mysteriously vanished? The police never found her. Or is that just a coincidence?"

"I think," Dick glanced over at her, then cursed loudly as his character in the game was mauled and eaten by what appeared to be zombies. As the game loaded again he returned his gaze to her and ran his fingers through his hair, "I don't know exactly what's going on with that, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. There's _no _reason for you to feel uncomfortable in your own house, that's for certain. Your grandfather seems like a pretty decent guy. I can't imagine that he would be involved."

"I never said anything about being uncomfortable."

He either wasn't listening or had chosen to ignore her as his game came back on. He continued with a shrug, "As for Vega, well, she didn't really mysteriously vanish. Her bank accounts were completely wiped clean. She ran. You can't really put too much thought into what her family said about her being murdered, she could have easily been hiding depression or a drug addiction. You'd actually be surprised how easy it is to disappear in Mexico."

Amelia gave him a doubtful look. "And you know this from experience?"

His mouth turned up into a goofy grin as he gave her a sidelong glance and said, "I have to get away from the ladies sometime, VanAlstyne. Believe it or not, I'm in pretty high demand."

"I know how you feel." She tossed her hair over her shoulder dramatically. "It's hard being beautiful. I mean, guys literally sneak into my house at night and leave me jewelry. It's really starting to become a problem."

Dick raised an eyebrow, "Guys in the plural, or just—what was that name you gave him?"

"Bird Brain," she answered. "He's the only one who's snuck in _so far_, but they're like STDs, once you get one… well, it's a slippery slope. Next thing you know I'm getting mobbed."

"So let me get this straight: you call Batman 'Batfreak' and compare Robin to, say, herpes. That's awfully harsh."

"I have a reputation to uphold," Amelia shrugged. "Though I have to admit that even _they're _better than James Moretti. Robin is a complete creep, but at least he meant well. I probably wouldn't cannibalize my limbs if I had to date him. James, well," a small smile lingered on her lips, "we may not be so lucky."

"What did he do to piss you off so much?"

"He's a complete sleaze." She felt herself getting angry even talking about him. "He has this air of confidence like he's the best thing since sliced bread. The guy insults everyone around him and expects me to be impressed by it. He must think I'm an idiot. I know he was just trying to get in my pants. It was totally obvious. Like, have a little decency. He's absolutely vile."

"To be fair," Dick offered after a while, "he has slept with practically the entire female student body worth mentioning. And by 'worth mentioning' I mean everyone who doesn't, as you put it, have braces and watch Star Trek."

"That means nothing to me. I would never, _never _in a million years touch that with a ten foot pole." Amelia shuttered at the thought and sunk low into the comfort of the couch. "What makes it worse is that my grandfather wants me to be friends with him. He thinks it would be good for business, well, since all of _those _families stopped using Wayne Shipping a while ago," she said with a grimace. She almost considered adding a 'no offence'. She hated talking about business, but sometimes it seemed like that was all her grandfather was capable of talking about. She especially didn't want to discuss it with Dick, who lived with the legendary Bruce Wayne himself. "He totally let me have it after I told James off. I didn't think I'd survive. He likes that I'm friends with you, though, so I think that makes up for it."

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes, "I'm a model citizen. I'm at the top of my class _and _I have perfect hair. Can you help but be impressed?"

"Oh, are they giving out keys to the city for having good hair, now? As if Gotham wasn't already weird enough." She laughed, "My grandmother likes you a lot, too. I think she's already planning our wedding. She says you're a 'handsome young gentleman'. Quite charming. Dapper, even."

"Does she?" Dick rubbed the back of his neck. "That's…something." He bit his lip as he concentrated on the game because his character was being mobbed. Once he was in the clear, a lopsided grin formed on his face. "I can't say I disagree, though. She's onto something."

"She's _on _something, that's for sure," Amelia rolled her eyes. She looked Dick over and imagined marrying her friend. Her nose wrinkled at the thought. She didn't even want to get married _at all_. "She's so weird."

"You know, you're not exactly the portrait child for average living, either." He fell quiet for a moment, then asked slowly, "How did you come to live with your grandparents, anyway? If you don't mind my asking."

Amelia was taken aback for a moment and couldn't quite decide what to say. "I… uh… no," her scrambled brain searched for words, "I don't really mind." She shrugged and hugged her knees to her chest, absentmindedly braiding and unbraiding small sections of her hair. "My mother sent me to go live with them. She's in India now. Some sort of 'soul searching' thing. So I'm here until she decides she wants to come back."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was still pretty embarrassing to admit as it was.

Dick was clearly confused. His lips pursed and his brow furrowed. "Is that so?" He pondered this for a moment, and then his face fell. "Does that mean you'll be leaving soon? Back to… where are you from?"

"New York," she answered, "and I don't think you have much to worry about. It didn't sound like she was coming back any time soon. I mean, I've never 'found myself' before, but it sounds like it takes a pretty long time. You can't get rid of me _that_ easily."

He gave her a wicked grin and said, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." He mulled over the new information for a moment and asked, "Why didn't you just go live with your father?"

Amelia could feel her cheeks grow hot and hoped he was paying too much attention to the game to give her much notice. "Well, I uh… He's not in the picture. We don't exactly know who he is. Hence my last name. Why, you giving me a background check?"

"Maybe. If we're going to disappear to Mexico, I need to know who I'm dealing with." He fell silent for a moment, then opened and closed his mouth a couple times like he was working up the courage to say something. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" he asked nervously.

"Seeing as that's what you've been doing for the past five minutes, all signs point to yes. I can't make any promises, though."

"Well, I took this photography class for an elective credit. Everyone said it was really easy, and I just needed something that fit in my schedule," he rambled at a mile-a-minute pace, "My other option was to take a study hall, really, and I hate those because I get bored. It's kind of a fun class I guess, except when the professor makes us go outside in the winter. Like last Tuesday she—"

"Dick," Amelia tried to catch is attention. "I volunteered to answer a question, not hear your whole life story."

"Right, sorry. One of the things I have to do for my final is take photos of an actual person. Would you mind? I mean, considering you're in the profession and all."

"_You _want to take pictures of _me_?" she asked, incredulous. Her first instinct was to say no because that would be awkward and weird, but she didn't want him to fail. "Sure, I don't see why not." She then added as a warning, "I'm really serious about it, though, so you're not allowed to make fun of me. Got it?"

"Of course not," he shook his head, "thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, and you owe me." Amelia kicked his shoulder lightly, causing his character to die and an expression of amused annoyance to appear on his face. "Expect a favor somewhere in your future."

Dick rolled his eyes. "You get to spend an entire afternoon in my presence, isn't that favor enough?"

The closer Amelia got to the door, the more nervous she became. She'd gone into the directory and found Amber's address, and was hoping to at least find out why she quit. There was some part of her that was hoping the other girl had just fallen ill and had neglected to call herself in sick. She didn't know what would make someone quit so suddenly, especially if they were saving up for school. She hoped everything was okay. Amelia kept wondering what she may have done wrong to creep Amber out and make her quit. She didn't think she'd done anything wrong, but then again, her social skills were a little lacking. She had to admit at least that much.

She finally mustered up the courage to knock, and within a few moments a red-haired girl around Amber's age answered the door. Amelia could see into the small apartment, which was honestly a bit of a mess. Dishes were piled up on the countertop by the sink, and a television blasted a reality show around a corner that she couldn't see. The girl, who must be Amber's roommate, smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, a scent that got stronger when she spoke. "Hello?"

"Hi." Amelia shifted her weight from one foot onto the other, suddenly wondering why she had even showed up in the first place. She took a deep breath. "Is Amber here? She lives here, right?"

"Yeah," the readhead said as she leaned against the doorframe casually, "she lives here. I haven't seen her since she left for work Wednesday night, though. She must be staying with a friend across town or something, she's kind of private." Her eyes narrowed, "So, who are you?"

Wednesday night was the same night Catwoman had showed up. The thought didn't make the pit in her stomach any more bearable. "Just a friend from school," Amelia lied.

"You want me to leave a note or something? Tell her you stopped by?"

Amelia didn't really want anything, except to talk her 'friend' into at least coming back to hang out if not to work. She didn't know what to say. "She has one of my books," she blurted without thinking.

"Oh, well," the girl looked uneasy, then stepped aside, "her room is the one on the right. Make it quick, though, she doesn't usually like people going through her stuff."

Amelia took a few steps into the apartment and looked around a bit before continuing onto the bedroom, Amber's roommate watching her warily. Amber's room was very small, at least compared to what Amelia was used to seeing. She was pretty sure she had closets larger than this. The bed was unmade and dirty clothes were piled high in the hamper. There was a small, red suitcase perched precariously on the top shelf of the closet, surrounded by a bunch of folded cardboard boxes she must have used to move in. It was odd, considering she had been gone for four days, that she wouldn't have brought her suitcase and left her bedroom in such a state. But then again, she didn't really know Amber, so she couldn't say much about her behavior.

There was a pile of books in the corner, but Amelia's book wasn't in it. The collection of Poe was, instead, sitting on Amber's bedside table with a bookmark about fifty pages in.

"Did you find it?" Amber's roommate asked from the doorway, startling her. Amelia hadn't heard her approach.

Amelia frowned. "No," she answered. "Is it normal for her to go off like this?"

Roommate girl rolled her eyes. "The girl never goes out, she's broke and works like a dog. But whatever, as long as she comes up with her part of the rent. I'll let her know you stopped by. What's your name?"

"Amelia, and thanks."

Amelia had actually let Charfield take her to the apartment this time, though she had insisted he stay in the car. He had hesitantly agreed, as long as she kept her phone on her and didn't take any more than fifteen minutes. This area wasn't as bad as the inner city, since it was within walking distance of the University, but it wasn't as if she was about to spend some quality time here.

Charfield eyed her grimace as she approached the car and sat. "Is everything alright?"

"Maybe," she considered, "well, no. Amber hasn't been seen since Wednesday night, and her roommate had no idea where she could be. And she hasn't come in for work or called in all week."

He thought for a moment, and his eyebrows formed a deep V once he must have realize what _other _event had occurred that night. "That's strange."

"A very astute observation, Sherlock. The roommate seems to think that she left to go stay with a friend, but her suitcase was still there. Her room was a complete mess. Hell, she still had moving boxes out."

"So?" he asked.

"So she's either just moved in or hasn't even had time to unpack properly since moving in. I'm more inclined to believe the second option, since she had been saving up for school and the semester started in late August. Also, as Fire Crotch said, she works all the time and never goes out. Does that sound like someone with a lot of friends to you?"

"No."

"No, it doesn't. And you don't stay for four days with someone you aren't good friends with. If she was planning a trip with a friend or even family, I'm sure she would have told her roommate about it." Amelia felt like a heavy weight pressed down on her chest and she played with the rear window, rolling it up and down absentmindedly. "That's why everything's not alright. I don't think she's okay."

"What you're saying makes sense, I suppose. But you have to keep in mind that although you've had a very _bad _introduction to Gotham, the entire city itself isn't terrible. It's cleaned up a lot. You can't assume that something bad has happened to everyone that disappears. It's a big city, and Amber is a young woman. She could have just, I don't know," he frowned and said cautiously, "…found someone. A friend, a boyfriend, whatever."

"So that's your suggestion? That she's off getting laid? I guess that explains the fact that she left with absolutely no clothes, but really? That's _all _you can think of?"

"Hey," Charfield rolled his eyes and gave her a warning glare. "I never said it was airtight, but it's just as plausible as your 'everyone gets murdered' theory."

"Airtight?" Amelia laughed, "Char, your ship is sunk. And I'm not saying everyone is getting murdered, I'm just saying that everything that's been going on is really weird." She crossed her arms across her chest and bit her lip. "It's all… unsettling."

"I guess I'll give you that much," he conceded. He glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror and frowned. "But if it makes you feel any better," he said hesitantly, "I suppose we could take a look at the security footage from that day if we still have it. I doubt anything interesting will show up, but you never know."

She nodded. "I think I'd like that."

"But you can't say anything about it. I'm not supposed to show anyone."

"What would I say? Honestly, I think everyone would be more concerned that I was turning into a paranoid wreck."

They pulled into the house and Charfield took her up to the security room and started looking through footage. All of the different screens lit up and everyone on them walked in reverse as he rewound the video. He chewed on his lip as he concentrated, then said apprehensively, "Okay, I've got it. Let me know if you see her."

Amelia searched the screens and pointed out the tall brunette. They followed her throughout the day. She did a lot of tea-duty. She probably brought her grandmother tea about five times before the woman went to bed.

It was extremely late. Amber was just about to pack up her things and leave when someone came in who must have told her she couldn't leave yet. Amber glanced back at her backpack and frowned, then nodded and went into the kitchen. She retrieved a tray with some glasses stacked on top and a bottle of some kind of alcohol, then made her way to the elevator.

Charles VanAlstyne had a few quirks. He liked to have his own space, which Amelia could only think to describe as a man cave or sorts. It had a desk because, of course, what did he do _besides _work? It had an area with fake green where he could practice golf, a small theatre set-up, and a shallow pond full of koi with a small waterfall.

That wasn't the strange thing, though. Amelia had inherited a lot from her grandfather—his height, his love of British literature, and evidently his paranoia. He didn't like the idea of someone being able to enter _his _space so easily, so the floor was far below ground where no one could, for example, sneak in through a balcony and steal anything. The elevator was almost as ancient as the house, and to say it was slow was an understatement. Amelia watched the video with a groan, wondering when the girl would ever emerge.

She was about to say something, but then the screen went black.

Amelia's heart dropped to her stomach and she looked around. "What, did someone catch us?"

Charfield frowned and shook his head. "No," he answered. "The power outage."

She'd completely forgotten about that because she'd been so focused on Catwoman. She was about to ask to see if he could get the video after the outage, but Charfield was already pulling it up on the screens.

Amber wasn't in the basement, so Amelia quickly scanned the rest of the cameras.

But Amber was nowhere to be seen.

A/N: Hey guys! This is a really late update, which I kind of expected. I've been doing cancer research over at the local university and it's been killing my brain. But I'm glad you stuck around to read this through! I've been planning the second arc of this story and, oh boy… it's gonna be a doozy.

As a last note, sorry for any typos. I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible and have only proofread it once for that reason. I may repost if I notice anything too terrible about it.


	5. Part 1, Chapter 5

"I'm surprised your bodyguard actually let you out of his sight. He usually follows you around like a lapdog," Dick observed as he changed lanes. He hadn't given Amelia the full details, but he had said there was a cool rundown building right outside of town where he wanted to take some photos. It sounded like the beginner photographer's heaven from the way he'd explained it. Amelia just hoped it wouldn't ruin her shoes.

"We have to give him a day off sometime," she rolled her eyes. "Besides, I could take you in a fight if it came down to it."

"Oh yeah? You want to bet?"

"Not only would you never hit me in a million years, but I'm pretty sure the heels I'm wearing could be classified as lethal weapons. It's not even a contest." She took the shoe off to show him the considerable height. "If you want to owe me yet another favor, be my guest."

Dick winced. "I see your point. What kind of a favor do you have in mind, anyway?"

"Why, nervous?"

"No," he scoffed, "just wondering what I'm getting myself into."

"I don't know." Amelia considered the million possibilities, then shrugged. "I really haven't thought of anything, yet. I'll let you know when I figure it out." She returned her attention to her surroundings as he turned down a dirt road toward what appeared to be an old factory building. All of the windows were gone, and it was completely covered in graffiti. "Is this legal?" she asked.

"Depends on your definition of legal."

"Are there going to be like, homeless people living here?"

"Nope, I checked it out yesterday. Totally empty."

"Fine," she said as he parked and got out of the car, "but if we get arrested, I'm telling them you kidnapped me."

He carried out the lights and slung the bags he'd need over his shoulder, then shut the car door with his hip since his hands were full. "Really? Because if the police even show up, I'm running and leaving you and your fancy shoes here to deal with it."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Amelia mocked. She eyed the heavy load. He was bearing the weight well, easily even, but she wasn't sure if he'd be able to get up any stairs with it if the time came. "Are you sure you don't need any help with that?"

It was Dick's turn to roll his eyes as he strode easily past her. "Trust me, I got it."

"If you insist," she muttered as she trudged after him, her heels sinking low into the dirt. Her lip curled. "If these get ruined—they better not get ruined."

"Instead of worrying about getting arrested, you're worried about ruining your shoes. I see you've got your priorities in line." As he reached the threshold, he shifted everything to one hand. He picked her up with his free arm snaked around her waist, and set her down on the concrete. "Hard part's over. Now all you have to do is look pretty for the camera."

Amelia shoved his arm away and crossed her arms across her chest. "I happen to be fond of nice things, and there's nothing wrong with that. And trust me, looking _pretty_ is not a problem." She glanced around the building, which was actually relatively clean considering the location. There were boards leaned up against the walls and laid out on the floor, and the lights hanging off of the ceiling were all broken. It was a building that used to be beautiful back when it had been built a long time ago, but now that it had been abandoned it was just a sad skeleton of what it used to be.

While she had been looking around, Dick had taken everything out and set up. Amelia quickly fell into routine, but as soon as it came time for him to start taking pictures her stomach filled with an awkward nervousness. "This is weird."

"Relax," he shrugged. "Act natural. I promised not to laugh, remember?"

Amelia grimaced, then breathed deep to relax herself. She took a few steps back to get into a better position in the light, and suddenly there was no ground underneath her.

With a series of loud crashes, she landed on top of a pile of wooden planks as the air rushed out of her lungs. Her butt was sore, the vibrations seemed to run up her spine, and her heart was still racing.

She had just fallen right on her ass. In front of the merciless Dick Grayson, whose lips were pursed in a clear attempt to stop himself from laughing at her misfortune.

"You're an asshole," she muttered, still mortified.

"I can't—" he managed before he doubled over in laughter. "I thought you said you could walk in those things!"

"Yeah, well I normally don't have to do acrobatics around building debris! You're such a dick!" her face burned.

He fell quiet and gave her a bemused grin. "Really? Of all the witty comebacks in the world, you had to go _there_? Very original, VanAlstyne."

Truthfully, Amelia hadn't even thought of the pun when she said it. She threw her head back and laughed, her tension dissipating, only to hear a familiar click. She frowned at Dick, who held the camera innocently. "What are you doing?"

"Taking pictures."

"Not when I'm on my ass! Give me that!" She quickly pushed herself up and leapt for the camera, only to be outmaneuvered.

He laughed and took another photo. "What's the rest of the school going to say when they find out you actually have feelings? You worried about your reputation?"

"No, but I know what _you _ought to be worried about," she said as she made another pass at the camera. The school already disliked her, she didn't need him providing them with material to make fun of her with. She could imagine it now, clumsy Amelia who couldn't even stay on her own two feet. And she couldn't even say she blamed them—it was great material. She'd make a joke about it too.

"What are you going to do, stab me to death with a stiletto?"

"It's not out of the question."

"I don't see what the big deal is. It's a good picture. I like it. If it makes you feel any better you can push me down and document it. You know, use it as collateral. See?" He showed her the picture from far away and from what she could tell it honestly wasn't terrible. It wasn't too obvious that she had just fallen, except for the board across her lap and her frazzled appearance. But still unacceptable.

"No."

"Oh no! What's this? I think I'm falling! Whatever will I do?" Dick exclaimed dramatically as he sat down on the floor. "Woe is me. This is terribly embarrassing. I'm so incredibly embarrassed."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "You're ridiculous. Fine, use the photo. I don't care."

He didn't respond and stayed rooted on the ground, continuing to gaze at her expectantly.

"Please get up."

He didn't budge.

"What do you want from me?" She grabbed his arm and tried to drag him up, but it was impossible. He weighed a ton. He tugged her down so she sat facing him, which was accomplished in a less than graceful manner considering her choice of footwear. He showed her the picture again, making sure to keep the camera just out of her grasp. "It's not horrible," she admitted.

"Is that all?"

"You're an A-list photographer, Mr. Grayson," she said flatly. "It's a fabulous photograph. I wonder how they get away with hiding your genius away in an entry-level class. It's positively criminal, might I add. Your beautiful work ought to be shared with the world."

"Thank you, Miss VanAlstyne. Though I have to extend some credit to my equally talented and beautiful model, but for her clumsy nature this work of art would not exist." He stood, then grabbed her hand to help her up.

"You flatter me, Mr. Grayson."

"Nonsense, every word of it is true."

Amelia shot him a playful glare. "I think you're confused, because I most certainly am _not_ clumsy. I just have very terrible luck."

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'll give you that, but you are talented. And smart."

"And beautiful," she added with another eye-roll. "Come on, let's start packing up." She turned around with the intention of picking up the camera bag, but he grabbed his arm and stopped her.

"You really are, though," he said in the serious tone she rarely heard from him.

The next few moments were kind of a blur, but the next thing Amelia remembered was the sound of her heartbeat in her ears as his lips pressed against hers. It took her a second to realize what was actually going on, but it was quite obvious: she was kissing Richard Grayson.

She'd never kissed a boy before.

Well, she'd never kissed _anyone _before.

From all the books she'd read, she'd gathered that the first thing she was _supposed _to have noticed how his lips were all 'warm' and 'softer' than she'd imagined. Which was total bullshit, she realized. They were body temperature and chapped. Nothing special.

Absolutely nothing special.

Dick's phone rang so he quickly righted himself and gazed down at her awkwardly for a moment.

"That was weird," she said, looking down at the phone in his hand to avoid his eyes.

"Oh good," he sounded relieved, "I thought so too."

And immediately the air was back to normal, as if nothing had happened. Which, really, nothing _had_ happened. It wasn't as if she had never imagined kissing him before, but she was actually as relieved as he was that it had been extraordinarily unremarkable. She liked her friendship with him the way it was, which was simple.

"Hello?" he answered the phone and listened to the person on the other line. His face fell. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as possible." He hung up, then ran around trying to get all of his things together. "I have to go," he explained after he hung up, "I'm not trying to run away, I promise, I just really have to go."

In his rush to get everything together he knocked one of the lamps over, which would have fallen and broken had it not been for Amelia's quick reflexes. She swooped down and caught it at the last second, then righted it. "You can go," she shrugged, "I can call Charfield, he won't mind. I'll take care of it."

He hesitated for just a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

He thanked her and rambled about owing her one for a few seconds before running off to the car. She called Charfield, who evidently was spending his day off doing a fat load of nothing alone in his apartment.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in anything but a suit before," she observed as he strode over in sweatpants and a long-sleeve Under Armour shirt.

He grabbed everything for her and put it into the back of his SUV. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't usually wear suits to the gym."

"You mean you weren't just born that buff?"

He didn't respond.

"So you were just hanging out all by your lonesome, huh? So really I'm like, doing you a favor by getting you out of the house."

"Except for the fact that I spend more time with you than I do in my own apartment," he answered. "Did you have fun?"

"I wasn't miserable." Amelia shrugged. "Did you get the chance to check up on any other footage?" Charfield had downloaded the security videos they had gone through the previous night onto a flash drive, just to double-check everything for her. He still wasn't convinced of anything, and he had mentioned something about there having to be some sort of stairwell for safety reasons. She hadn't really been paying much attention to him, as she'd been too absorbed in her own imagination and flipping back and forth between screens. It was like a magic trick. Now you see her, now you don't.

"Yes," his expression turned very serious and his tone became matter-of-fact, "I looked through everything. It took a few hours. She doesn't appear on camera at all after the power outage, but that doesn't mean much. It's a very old home, and many of the servants' corridors don't have any sort of cameras. May I offer some advice?"

"Of course."

"I think you should notify your grandfather of everything you've found out and let him handle it. It's not your responsibility, and I don't want you to feel guilty if anything _has _happened."

What would she say, though? Tell him how she forced Charfield to break into security? How she ran around the city unsupervised and put herself at unnecessary risk? He'd be furious. And there was still that uneasiness, the seed of doubt growing in her chest that made her falter. "But what if Catwoman was right?" she asked. "What if he's not as nice as I think he is?"

"I think you're both mentally and emotionally exhausted, and listening to that awful woman is a terrible idea. She's crazy. Your grandfather is a great man." He clenched his jaw, then added hesitantly, "There's also something else you haven't considered."

"What?"

"We couldn't see Catwoman appear on video, either. There's a possibility she could have caused the power outage for that reason, we still don't know its true cause." The next words came reluctantly out of his mouth, "It's far-fetched, but there's a slim chance that your friend could be the thief herself."

"No," Amelia blurted defensively, "There's no way. She couldn't have been." She wanted to say that their voices sounded totally different or something, but everything had happened so quickly that she could barely remember the words Catwoman had said to her, let alone the sound of her voice.

They pulled up to the house and she hesitated before stepping out. "Will you come in with me for a bit? Check out the basement?" She just had to know that Amber had gotten out all right. Though a small part of her hoped that something small _had _happened, because that would mean she wasn't being completely ignored for being a creepy, weird basket case. Of course, the logical part of her beat down that small desire and mostly just turned her into a guilty, anxious mess.

Charfield glanced down at his wardrobe. "I'm not dressed for that."

"My grandparents are gone for the night. No one needs to know." She tried to look as pathetic and needy as possible as he loaded all of Dick's things into the back of her car. "I just want you to come check out the basement with me, that's all. We'll look for a servant's corridor or whatever and then you can go. The basement creeps me out." She hoped there was one. She was inclined to believe Charfield because he was more logical than she was, but she just kept thinking that if _she _were to build her own man-cave, she wouldn't have one put in. She liked the idea of being able to tell who was coming in and when because there was only one entrance and exit.

Besides, she really didn't want to think about what it would mean if there wasn't. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and every minute she spent in the manor, the more anxious she felt. She hadn't slept much in the past couple days, so she'd had to put massive amounts of makeup to cover the bags under her eyes.

He glanced back at his car longingly, as if he wanted nothing more than to enjoy the comfort of his couch and relax on his day off. "Fine," he said and strode past her toward the door, "let's make this quick."

Amelia followed him down the creepy elevator into the basement, where they began looking for jib doors, which was harder than she'd imagined. With the moldings and the cut of the room, one could easily be concealed.

"I'm guessing this isn't how you planned on spending your day off, huh?" she asked.

"No, not particularly," he said and stepped back with a frown. "I'm just not seeing anything here. And I know you don't want to hear this, but I really think the only option is to admit to your grandfather that we broke in and see what he knows."

"I think shooting myself in the kneecap might be less painful."

"Fine, I'll do it then. It really isn't worth you getting so worked up over." He pulled out his phone and started dialing, but didn't have the opportunity to send because she quickly slapped the phone out of his hand and onto the floor.

"Are you crazy? He'll fire you!"

"I can get another job."

"No you can't. No one else would put up with me and you know it. It was bad enough when I had to deal with your father while you were at school. Do you even _know _how boring that man is? Out of the question."

He picked up his phone and inspected it for damage, but didn't agree or disagree.

"Besides," she mused smugly and crossed her arms over her chest, "I can make sure _no one _will hire you." She plucked a small ball off of her grandfather's desktop and sat down on the plush carpet. "Plus, I guess I kind of feel more comfortable when you're around. At least right now. I don't like Gotham very much, it makes New York look like Sesame Street."

Charfield's expression softened as he rolled his eyes and sat down beside her. "You have the most vivid imagination of anyone I've ever met. Honestly, you're worried over nothing. Your friend obviously isn't here. Something may have happened on the way home. If it makes you feel better, I can take you over to her apartment again tonight to make sure she hasn't come back, then we can go to the police."

"I like that." Amelia nodded and threw the ball against the wall opposite her. It hit with a loud _thud, _fell lamely to the floor, and rolled under the desk. "See, this is why I keep you around."

"I'm glad you think so highly of me, Miss VanAlstyne."

"Char, you know I hate it when you call me that."

"Of course I do. Come on," he stood and called the elevator, "let's get out of this place. It's giving me the chills."

Charfield had left Amelia a few things to ponder over as she ran around the track in the gym. Could Amber really have been Catwoman? It would tie the two problems in her life together well and explain how Catwoman seemed to know so much about the serving staff. But Amber had seemed so sweet; she definitely was not the kind of girl who would break into Amelia's home and knock her out. No one could be that good of an actress. Could they?

She was a couple of miles in when her phone rang. She stopped and wiped the sweat off of her forehead and took a few seconds to catch her breath, then answered. "Hello?"

"You seem out of breath," Dick observed, "You're not taking the clumsy thing to heart, are you? I can't have you getting all agile on me; your awkward charm would be gone and everyone would want to be friends with you again. And if you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly Mr. Popular."

"You're funny. Did your mysterious emergency turn out well?" she asked.

"Yeah, that was just Bruce. He doesn't get free time all that much and I barely see him, so when I do it's kind of a big deal. But that's done now, so if you want me to pick up my stuff I can do that."

"No, I can drive it over in a few." Amelia bit her lip. "I also have some stuff I need to tell you."

"Good stuff?"

"Weird stuff."

"Oh, I like weird stuff. Awesome. So I'll let you go."

"Bye."

Amelia dressed as quickly as possible and drove over to Wayne manor at twenty-miles-per-hour over the speed limit. She gave Alfred her keys and he unpacked Dick's things as she headed straight through the doors. She bounded up the staircase two steps at a time and ran down the hall to Dick's room.

She burst in, breathless.

"You got here quickly," he said, a little caught off guard as he put his computer to sleep and rummaged a few papers around.

"Yeah, well," she shrugged, "I think I know who Catwoman is."

He looked shocked for a moment, then frowned. "What?"

She sat down beside him on the couch and told him the story of Amber and the video tape. The more she talked, the more pronounced his frown became until it turned into a grimace. When she finished, his eyebrows were knit together and his knee bounced anxiously.

He looked at his watch and glanced toward the door. "Shit," he groaned. "Bruce and I had made plans for tonight."

"Oh. I'll leave, then. We can talk another time."

"No!" he blurted. "No, you should stay here. It won't take long. Just hang out here until we get back, then we can talk, okay? Stay here."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "How about I just go and you can call me when you're free?"

"No. This won't take too long. Just _promise _me you'll stay here until we get back."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a complete freak?"

"Sometimes. So will you stay?"

She pursed her lips and shrugged. "I guess, just don't keep me waiting too long or I'm out."

He nodded and ran full speed out of the room.

Amelia had known it when she became friends with him, but Dick was kind of weird sometimes. She turned on the television, but quickly became bored with that and began poking around his room. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help herself.

His computer was sleeping, so she moved her finger around on the track pad to wake it up. She clicked a button, and suddenly the screen was filled with what looked like to be scanned newspaper articles. She sat down on the desk and began to read the text.

It was dated twenty years ago. It was a brief, one-paragraph story about a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman named Annie who had disappeared and had happened to have worked for her grandfather. There were two similar articles about different women, dated nineteen and eighteen years ago.

Amelia wanted to stop reading, but something kept her eyes glued to the screen. Was it her curiosity? Or was it the natural urge to watch something disastrous happen, like a car crash? She kept squirming in her seat and looking over her should to make sure no one would burst in and catch her snooping.

The last article was seventeen years ago, just after her birthday. It was considerably longer than the rest of them, telling the story about a young, pregnant worker. The woman didn't come back home from work one day, and a week later her boyfriend called it in. She was later found at the bottom of the river, her body completely torn up and mutilated. They had found signs of sexual abuse on the corpse, but weren't able to collect any DNA evidence. Her boyfriend was eventually convicted of the murder, primarily because he took so long to call it in.

Amelia maximized some of the photos minimized on his desktop, which turned out to be photos of receipts dated the week after the woman had gone missing, before it had been reported. They clearly indicated that the man had been in Virginia the week of his girlfriend's murder, which had been why he hadn't been able to notify police. In short, he had a solid alibi, but had been convicted anyway.

How did Dick have these? How could he have found them? She had figured that he was the World of Warcraft type, but this level of apparent hacking ability made her stomach knot. These photos had to be from some sort of secure, police records. He shouldn't have them. He had joked about illegally trespassing, but this was _seriously _illegal. She felt dirty just reading it.

Her eyes were out of focus as she gazed at the screen, when she came to an eerie realization. All of these women had blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and similar-set jaws. They all looked like Melissa Vega. They all looked like her mother.

Her pulse raced as she minimized all the photos and documents she had pulled up, which revealed what Dick had actually been looking at as she had come in. It was one of the photos that he had taken of her earlier that day, and beside it was a picture of Amber. And as uncomfortable as it was to admit, Amelia had to confess that they looked very similar in the two photos.

She slammed the lid of the laptop shut in a panic and closed her eyes, processing the information slowly. There was a time when women serving her family had gone missing. These serving women looked like her mother. Melissa Vega, the woman Catwoman had told her about, was one of them. Now, Amber had gone missing. According to Dick, she resembled Amber. Someone was targeting women who resembled her and her family.

Amelia was incredibly confused, something she wasn't used to and didn't like. Her eyes scanned Dick's large desk for any more information when they landed on a rolled-up stack of old, yellowed paper shoved haphazardly in the crack between the desk and the wall. When she unrolled it, it automatically opened to reveal blueprints of her grandfather's manor.

How the _hell _would he have gotten this? Her grandfather never would have allowed these to become public. This was no one else's business. None of this was Dick's business. Anger swelled up in her throat and her sweating fists clenched. The particular room it had opened to was the basement, and a section of the wall was circled in red pen. She turned the page, and what was on it didn't make much sense. According to this blueprint, there was another level of the basement. A completely new set of rooms that Amelia had never seen before.

That was impossible. She had just been there with Charfield _looking _for a door. If one had been there, they would have found it. They found nothing. They would have noticed if one of the walls was hollow, wouldn't they?

Her stomach dropped as she remembered the sound of the ball she had thrown against the wall. She had thought it was just a strange thud because of the type of wood at the time, but now she realized that it hadn't made that noise for nothing. It echoed through her mind. How could she have not recognized the sound as hollow? Looking back on it, it seemed so obvious.

She felt nauseous. Catwoman's words repeated over and over again in her mind like a cold, miserable mantra: "_I'm _not the one you need to worry about, little girl. Your good old granddaddy, on the other hand, oh, now _he's _a bad man."

A/N: Hey guys! I just wanted to get this out to you ASAP because I've been slacking because of all the training I have to do at school. As is usual, I'll probably go through it later and if I find anything funny go back and fix it.

Thanks for sticking with me for so long! If all goes well, the next chapter should be the last in this arc. This story was kind of an experiment for me because I've never written anything mystery-esque before. I'm a lot more familiar with writing action/adventure, which the second part to this story should contain _much_ more of. Actually, when I first thought of this story, the second and third parts were the ones I really wanted to write. This first part was more introductory—getting to know the characters and setting up some background.

I just wanted to let you guys know that in the next arc I think I'll be writing from more than one character's prospective. In this story I focus mostly on Amelia, but next I'd like to include Dick, maybe Bruce, and possibly a few other characters as well. Anyways, I'll stop rambling. I hope you'll stick around for the next part, but if not I understand, because it will be very different.


	6. Part 1, Chapter 6

Amelia rushed to grab her keys and hastily threw her coat on. As she ran down the stairs Alfred stopped her. "Miss VanAlstyne," he called, "Master Dick was very adamant about having you remain here for the night. It would bring both him and I great pleasure if you were to stay."

She wanted to tell him where Dick should shove his orders, but she liked Alfred too much to snap at him. Instead, she just shook her head. "I'm sorry Alfred, I really can't stay. I have to get home immediately."

He looked hesitant, but nodded and didn't stop her from leaving.

She burned with rage as she sped through Gotham. Dick had known about everything the whole time. He didn't tell her anything. In fact, he even told her that there was nothing to worry about. That she'd be safe at home. He told her lie after lie to make her feel comfortable all while she was living over a _dungeon._

There was no other way Amber could have left. She was down there, and she was probably badly hurt. What made Amelia absolutely sick was that her own grandfather had trapped her there. There was no other explanation; it was _his_ hidden room. _His_ house. Amber had disappeared in that room, during the power outage that he must have created so that it wouldn't be caught on camera. According to Dick, the same person who had kidnapped her was the same person that had kidnapped all those other women and killed them. For years he had slaughtered women that looked exactly like his own daughter. He had messed up once and when they actually found the body, he must have paid someone off to have the woman's boyfriend take the fall for him. And now he was going after ones that looked like _her. _

Did he want to kill her?

When he came back and found Amber gone, would he?

All these things ran through her head. The only thing that kept her grounded was the anger. She used it to save herself from panicking. Here she was, racing desperately to save someone's life while Dick, who had known everything for longer than she did, was off having milk and cookies with Bruce Wayne.

How the _hell _could you just leave someone to die like that? What kind of a person was he? But no matter what kind of a person he was, he was still miles ahead of Charles VanAlstyne the liar, serial killer, and rapist. Charles VanAlstyne, her grandfather. Her grandfather was a serial killer.

As she came to a squealing stop right by the entrance of the manor only one thing was certain: it was Amber's resemblance to Amelia that got her into trouble in the first place. Amelia had to get her out immediately. It wouldn't make everything better, but it would help her stop feeling so responsible.

The first thing Amelia did was run straight to the security room. When Charfield had broken into the security footage, he first needed to disable all the cameras. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the password, watching his fingers fly over the keys. Four letters. J-A-N-E, her mother's name.

It worked. Once she had gained access to the cameras, she completely shut them down.

Next, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen before making her way to the elevator. Each rattle of the machinery made her heart race and by the time it got to the bottom her hands were shaking so badly the knife threatened to fall from her sweaty palms.

She rounded the corner, where the wall appeared to be totally flush. It didn't look like there was a door. How many times had someone walked right past here while there was someone on the other side of it? Her fingers ran through the crevices into the decoratively carved wood, trying to find some way to open the door that was supposedly right there.

And there it was. A small button hidden under the curved wood of a fleur de lis. She took a deep breath, counted to three, and pushed the little knob. With a series of clicks, a door swung open to reveal a set of clean-looking, white stairs. Amelia had to force herself forward the same way she had to force herself onto roller coasters, only this time she was sure there would be no relief afterward. She jumped when the door started closing automatically after her, but breathed a silent sigh of relief when she saw a door handle on the other side.

There were a lot of stairs. This room was much farther underground than she had expected. It wasn't just one floor down, it was many, and the stairwell twisted and turned until she wasn't sure what direction she was facing until she finally came upon a large, open room. The floor was covered in bright white tile, sloping down into the middle of the room where there was a large drain. There was a hose coiled against the center of the far wall. Amelia didn't want to even think about what it may have been used for.

And there, right across from her, was an exhausted-looking, malnourished Amber. She was wearing the same clothes she had the night she had been taken and chained to rings on the wall with leather cuffs. Amber turned slowly toward her and opened her eyes lethargically. She looked both confused and scared. "Amelia?"

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief and approached her slowly. "Yes."

The poor girl instantly dissolved into tears, but when Amelia tried to console her, she recoiled from her touch.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Amelia tried to reassure as she started sawing at the leather with the knife. It worked slowly, and she got little in return for her efforts. The longer she continued the more anxious she got and she frustratedly hacked at the restraints.

She used the opportunity to take a good look around. In the corner of the room were two television screens, showing the security footage from the driveway and basement. They must be separate from the normal system. She could see her car parked in the corner. In her haste, she had forgotten to turn her headlights off.

"What day is it?" Amber asked quietly.

Amelia didn't want her to freak out any more than she already was. "You've been here a little while."

Amber frowned, but didn't bother to ask again. "I'm thirsty."

"Honestly I think that's the least of your worries."

"Do you think he'll kill you, too?"

Amelia faltered and froze. "What?"

"When he finds you here. Do you think he'll kill you, too?" she repeated, staring blankly somewhere over Amelia's shoulder.

"You're not going to die. We're going to get out and get you to a hospital. He's not here, anyway." The hospital. She would need to call them. She checked her phone. _Damn. _No service, of course.

"He knows. He always knows."

Amber's cryptic comments were seriously putting her on edge to the point where she almost considered gagging the girl. Chills ran down Amelia's spine. She didn't say anything, hoping to discourage any further communication. She wiped the sweat off of her brow with the back of her hand. Maybe she wasn't in as good shape as she thought she was—her arm was already sore.

"No, look." Amber jutted her chin out toward the corner. "He's coming."

Amelia followed the girl's gaze to the security cams. Her grandparents emerged from the back of their car. Her grandfather stepped up toward the house, but stopped when he saw Amelia's car parked so strangely. She couldn't see his face because his back was to her, so she held her breath until he shrugged and walked over to turn them off for her.

Actually seeing him was the hardest part. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to look away. She wanted to stare at him until all the information she had gathered in the past hour could actually sink in properly. Then she snapped out of it and the panic set in. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, and no matter how deeply she breathed she couldn't quite seem to get enough oxygen. Nothing seemed real. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I have to get out of here. I'm so sorry."

"What?" Amber's crazed eyes burned on hers. "No!" she shouted. She lunged for Amelia and grabbed her arm tightly. "You can't leave me!"

Amelia couldn't shake the girl's grasp, and did what instinct told her to: she plunged the knife into the flesh of the girl's arm. Or at least she tried. She missed and ended up giving her a deep gash instead. Amber let out a loud screech at let go long enough for Amelia to reel back, but then grabbed ahold of Amelia's legs and pulled her to the ground. Amelia's head hit the tile floor with a loud c_rack _and for a moment she saw stars and the corners of her vision turned blurry and black. The knife fell from her hands and skated across the floor to the other side of the room.

In that moment, when Amelia fought to remain conscious, a pit of dread dropped weightily in her stomach. She was an idiot. She should have called Charfield—something which hadn't even occurred to her until now. She should have done so many things. If she didn't get out she was going to die here, and no one would even find her body.

She kicked and tried to shake Amber's tight grip. Eventually she managed to wriggle a leg free, which she kicked until she made contact with something hard. She heard a crack and could feel Amber's nose break through the toes of her shoes. Blood flowed down the other girl's face and pooled in the area above her lip.

Finally free, Amelia scrambled dizzily to the stairs, but was stopped by a pair of cold, calculating grey eyes. Charles was here. She hadn't even heard him come in. In the background, Amber wailed and pressed her blood-soaked hands to her face.

"Amelia," he asked angrily, "why can't you ever mind your own business? Didn't your mother ever teach you better?" He laughed eerily, enjoying a private joke to himself. "No, I suppose not."

As he stepped slowly forward, Amelia took a step back to maintain her distance from him.

His eyes flickered over to Amber as he took a moment to drink in her bloodied state. For a moment he almost seemed amused, but when his stern gaze returned to her he grew angry again. "Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?" he yelled. "Stupid, _stupid _girl. You ruined everything!"

Amelia's vocal chords didn't work. She stared at the stairs behind him, trying to think of some way that she could get past him. He was an old man, as large as he may be. She could push him down. She could escape. She would need to be quick. She would only have one chance.

With only a moment's hesitation, she ran forward and rammed her shoulder into his chest and sent him flying backwards. She didn't look back to see him crash to the floor as she moved quickly to the stairs.

She didn't remember tripping on anything, but suddenly her leg gave out underneath her and she stumbled and fell forward onto the ground. She tried to push herself up, but her leg wouldn't support any of her weight. She fell again.

That was when her thigh filled with liquid fire. Amelia glanced down. There was a hole in her leg. She was covered in blood. Her grandfather stood over her with a gun, his face filled with fury. He brushed his unkempt hair away from his face as beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead.

He tucked it into the back of his pants and grabbed her by her coat, dragging her roughly back into the room. She knew in the back of her mind that she should fight back, but all she could do was shake and cry and curl up on herself. She felt so, _so _cold.

He gripped her hair at the scalp and slammed her head into the tile, screaming at her hysterically with words she couldn't understand. Everything seemed fuzzy and far away. The only thing she could feel was his warm spit that sprayed on her face as he shouted.

Then he stopped, and all she wanted to do was curl up and allow herself to fall asleep. Dust and smoke were everywhere, and it was hard to breathe.

Someone put their hand gently against her cheek and tapped her awake. "Amelia," a boy's voice called softly, "you need to stay awake, okay? You're alright now. Everything fine."

Amelia opened her eyes for long enough to see that Robin character who had saved her before. She was seeing double and couldn't figure out which one of him to focus on. "Hey, Bird Brain," she said weakly. "You're a terrible liar."

"Always with the insults, Miss VanAlstyne. You wound me."

"We all need something to hide behind. We can't all have masks." When he just stared at her she grew angry. The pain was getting worse, and her head was still cloudy. Words were becoming harder and harder to place. Her vision grew fuzzy. "Hospital," she demanded before she passed out.

Charfield wasn't as angry with her as he was disappointed. When the nurses had finally allowed him to see her, Amelia had expected him to start yelling. But he hadn't. He had just sat there quietly until she couldn't bear it any longer and started apologizing over and over again for how badly she had handled the situation.

"Amelia, stop," he ordered and reached over to grab her hand. "I'm just glad you're okay."

She sunk lower down the incline of her bed and winced as she moved her leg.

"Your nurses said you were lucky that there wasn't as much damage as there could have been. You're expected to make a quick recovery."

"For some reason lucky isn't exactly the term I'd use to describe it." Amelia looked down at her hands. "Have you heard anything about Amber?" she asked.

"Not much," he shrugged. "Only that she's a lot better off than you are right now. Though you did do a number on her face—she needed surgery for her nose." The lighthearted way he said it made her stomach churn.

"How's the press handling it?"

"We've managed to keep quite a bit of it quiet, but I advise not opening your curtains."

She frowned.

A nurse appeared in her doorway. "Miss, there's someone here to see you."

Amelia looked over to see Dick standing in the hallway. He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot onto the other with his hands shoved into the front of his sweatshirt pocket. He gazed up at the ceiling and tapped his toe impatiently.

She'd been thinking a lot about him in the time she'd had to herself when she wasn't completely drugged. She really ought to talk to him at some point. "I guess I'll see him."

Charfield seemed to pick up on her reluctance and stood. "No," he shook his head, "you should rest. He can see you later."

She shot him a glare. "Let him in," she ordered the nurse.

He rolled his eyes and walked past Dick as he entered, pausing only a moment to stare down the younger boy threateningly. The moment was fleeting, and soon Charfield had left.

"Hey," Dick greeted and sat down at the end of her bed.

"When were you going to tell me?" Amelia insisted.

"Wow," he seemed a bit taken aback and let out a long breath. "Good to see you, too."

"I'm not one to beat around the bush."

"I can see that."

"So," she repeated, "when were you going to tell me?"

"I was just trying to help. I know someone. I have a friend who can help with this stuff. I really just didn't want you to get hurt, that's all. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Cut the bullshit, Wonder Bread." she hissed angrily. She had discovered earlier that morning what had actually happened. Dick was the only one who she had ever told anything to. He was the only one who knew. And who had been the one to show up? Another smart-mouthed, nerdy twerp. It wasn't hard to figure out. "And let me guess," she asked sarcastically, "Bruce is the flying rodent himself?"

"Amelia, please," he warned and glanced around nervously.

"I'm not about to tell anyone. I don't want that responsibility or attention. Besides, it's not like anyone would ever believe me if I told them you were Robin. Honestly, I'm still having trouble believing it myself." She shook her head. She'd be getting too much attention as it was. "I just wanted to thank you. But at the same time, lying to me like that was completely unforgivable."

He started to say something, but she held her hand up to stop him. "I know you had your reasons, but I need a little honesty in my life right now. And I know this won't be the last time you need to lie to me, understandably."

Dick looked troubled and seemed fascinated by his shoes, which he tapped rhythmically on the ground. "What are you saying?"

Amelia stared down at her hands. "I don't know if we can be friends right now," she said quietly.

"I was afraid you would say that." He nodded and shrugged. He stood and bent down to give her a tight hug. "I'm sorry things couldn't be different."

"Me too, Bird Brain," she said and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're a good kid."

"I'll see you around, then."

"See you," she agreed and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

Once he had left Amelia looked around and grabbed the first thing she could find to distract herself. There was a large bouquet of white lilies in a vase with a note attached, so she snatched up the envelope and tore it open without much regard to whether or not she would rip the card inside.

'_Amelia,' _it read, '_I know I haven't done a very good job of proving that I'm not a total jerk. I feel terrible about everything, and I hope you can make a speedy recovery. If you ever need to talk (not that I expect you to), I know a thing or two about family ties you're not proud of. On the other hand, I'm not opposed to causing a little trouble if you need some attention off your back. Be well. –James M. III'_

She remembered the flowers he'd left her that she'd completely disregarded, which probably held a note similar to this. She wasn't completely sure why James seemed worried about her opinion of him when he totally ignored her in class, but she'd come to expect this strange behavior from him. He had a large ego and a screw loose. There wasn't much more that could be said.

And he was right. If she needed to talk, she still maintained that she would rather gnaw off her own extremity than spend some quality time alone with someone like _him. _She wasn't that eager to replace Dick. Not yet, at least.

Amelia hobbled out of the private elevator into her new penthouse apartment. It hadn't taken much to convince her grandmother to allow her to stay here. In fact, she hadn't even told her outright that she wouldn't—_couldn't, _really_—_live in the manor anymore. She doubted Grandmother would even notice. She was too in her own world recently, especially after her grandfather was arrested while Amelia was in the hospital. The reporters were hounding her almost as badly as they were stalking Amelia, which was saying something. She was surprised they weren't outside her window right now using the window cleaner's pulley system.

Charfield passed by her with his arms full to bursting with the last of her luggage. Everything else had arrived a few days ago so the apartment would be ready for her arrival. She wasn't able to do any apartment shopping while in the hospital, so she'd sent him out to go look at a few. It was a bit too modern for her tastes, but there was access to a loft that offered an extensive library on either side of the main room. That and a large fireplace were really the only things she needed to consider something home.

He grunted as he dropped it at the foot of her bed. She limped in slowly after him with her crutches. He regarded her leg with a frown. "Do you want me to unpack it for you?"

Amelia took a second to recall what was in the case. No, she didn't really want him going through her underwear. "Don't worry about it," she answered, "I'll have the cleaning lady do it tomorrow morning. Have you seen your room yet?" She'd asked him to stay for a little while just until she was able to sleep through the night on her own. In return, she'd gotten an apartment with two master bedrooms so he could have as much privacy as possible. He wouldn't be working 24/7, but having him around a little more would serve to make both of them feel a little more comfortable. He was being absurdly overprotective of her lately. He hadn't let her up into the apartment until after he'd given it a proper walk-through first, even when they were the only two with access to the elevator. Stupid stuff like that.

"I went through it briefly."

"You should go get unpacked yourself. Then, you know, do whatever old men do on their days off. Go golfing. Get drunk. Nail chicks. The usual."

"I'm not _that _old."

"You have a college degree and can drink legally—sounds pretty ancient to me. Now get out of here, I'm going to go take a nap."

Amelia went into the bathroom to wash her face and take out her contacts, but when she returned there was an odd shape on her bed. She frowned and groped around for her glasses. Once she put them on, she had to cover her mouth to suppress a yelp of surprise.

Catwoman was sitting down on her bed, a piece of Amelia's gold jewelry gripped in her fingers.

Amelia glanced toward the door. All she had to do was scream and Charfield would be in here within ten seconds. The thought kept her steady, though her pulse was still racing. "What are you doing here?"

"Long time, no see," the woman stated simply. "I thought we could have a little girl-talk. How's Gramps?"

"You knew everything the whole time, that's why you told me about Vega. Why didn't you do something yourself?"

Catwoman snorted. "Please, _I'm _hardly a credible source. I never suspected he'd take anyone else, though," she said and the pitch of her voice dropped. "That was unexpected. I wanted to see what you would do. You _fascinate _me."

"You _repulse _me."

The older woman _tsked. _"Those are awfully strong words for a cripple. Especially for one who's hardly a saint herself. I know what happened to little Amber, I read the reports."

More hacking. Amelia was convinced that she had to be the only one on the planet without access to supposedly secure files. "I'm not proud of it," she said with a shrug. "Then again, I'm no hero."

"Neither am I, darling."

She batted the pendant back and forth in her hands and Amelia struggled to get a good look at it. It was one she'd stolen from her mother's jewelry box when she was younger, and she doubted it was worth much compared to the rest of her collection. "What do you want with that old thing?"

"I did a little bit of research on you, you know. You're quite the little thief."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Taking something from my _mom _hardly qualifies as thievery. It's barely worth anything."

"Oh I know, I just liked it. I was thinking more along the lines of this," Catwoman stated as she pulled a platinum chain out from under her black suit. She held the incredibly large, tear-drop shaped diamond out between her fingers carefully before letting it hang around her throat.

Amelia hadn't seen that necklace in a long time. She'd put it in a heavy, small black bag and had shoved it in the back of her oldest jewelry box where she had hoped to never see it again. She'd never told anyone about it. Ever. She hadn't even written about it in her diary. It was a dirty thing and she had done her best to forget it was even there. "He was going to get my mother arrested," she blurted defensively. "I couldn't sit around and do nothing."

"I hate to break it to you, but Mommy's a spoiled little rich girl with a history of a nasty drug habit and anger management issues, and that's barely scratching the surface of _that _nutcase." Catwoman rolled her eyes. "She deserved to be arrested. I'm more impressed that you managed to steal something this valuable out from under the nose of someone so hell-bent on keeping it safe from the hands of little thieves like you. Or me."

It hadn't been hard. Then again, thievery was easy when one was armed with friends in high places, an almost limitless bank account, and the appearance of an innocent fifteen-year-old girl. And there was a lot of motivation to do so when the man in charge of protecting the diamond was the same man trying to throw your mother behind bars. Amelia had stolen it from him when he was hired to protect it, and his credibility was completely destroyed. She was pretty sure he wouldn't even be able to get a job flipping burgers. His career was over, but her mother was safe. And that's all that mattered.

Amelia especially didn't appreciate the comparison. "I'm _nothing _like you," she hissed.

"Are you so sure about that?"

"Positive."

Catwoman stood and took a step toward Amelia, causing her to take a step back. She was shorter than Amelia, but there was something about her that made her intimidating regardless. "See, I don't think so. I can tell you _loathe _being so helpless. Really, you're completely incapable of protecting yourself. You hate having to rely on your friends to keep you safe. After all if something bad were to, say, happen to Mr. McKnight or the little bird boy, it would almost seem like your fault. Wouldn't you want to protect them the best you could? Don't you want to be able to do things for yourself?"

She closed the space between her and Amelia and continued, "It doesn't help that you lie awake at night thinking about poor Amber, who needed surgery to fix her face after you bashed it in. You think about what you could have done differently and how you acted like a stupid coward. You want to be better, but not for anyone else. You know you can't change what happened. You want to do it for yourself_. _So you can be independent. So you can _survive. _You and I, Amelia, we're survivors who aren't afraid to get what we want."

"Yawn," Amelia said flatly, "I've heard better sales pitches from Jehova's Witnesses. You have thirty seconds to finish up before I'm calling Charfield because you're just so full of shit and _boring._"

Catwoman looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly regained her composure. "I can teach you. When you recover."

"What's in it for you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit," Amelia actually laughed. "There's _always _something in it for you. You need to leave. I'd say I'm sorry for not falling for your act again, but I'd be lying. I'm not dumb."

With a coy smile, Catwoman shoved a crinkled piece of paper into Amelia's hand. "This isn't my usual style, but I just know you'll come back _crawling,_" she purred as she kicked aside one of Amelia's crutches. She fell to her hands and knees, and her glasses clattered and skid across the floor.

By the time she found her glasses, Charfield had burst into the room and Catwoman had disappeared. "Are you okay?" he asked as he helped her up.

"Yeah," she winced, "I just fell, that's all."

"You really ought to be more careful," Charfield scolded as he plucked Catwoman's piece of paper off of the ground and threw it into the trashcan on his way out of the room. "Remember, just shout if you need anything."

"Really?" she called out the door after him, "I didn't get that the first ten times you said it, but now everything's suddenly so clear. Thanks for enlightening me."

Amelia stood there for a while with a frown before walking as quietly as possible over to the trashcan and grabbing the little wad of paper. She flattened it out, and placed it in the back of her wallet for safe keeping. She didn't expect to need it, but it may come in handy later.

End of part I! I'm so excited to write part II, however, I still need to plan out a lot of little details and such. The plot is very intricate (and fun! and action packed! and a _lot _more cannon characters are involved) so it's going to need some time to plan out. I have an intense course load this semester, so there may be a bit of a break before I'm able to get writing again. But I'm still working on it! And writing has become almost therapeutic, so when I get some free time I'll try to work on it more.

On another note, please keep in mind that Amelia is only seventeen and she still has a lot left to learn. There's going to be a bit of a time-skip in part II in which I think you'll find that she's matured a bit and comes across as much less brat-ish.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks everyone!


	7. Part 2, Chapter 1

Part II

Amelia took a long look at the half-full glass of red wine. She swirled it slowly, watching the red color stick to the crystal before slowly dripping down to join the rest of the liquid. She smelled it. She sipped it slowly. And ultimately she decided to hell with it all, grabbed the entire bottle from the counter, and flopped down on the couch. Her muddy shoes stained the white fabric, but at the moment the amount of shits she gave was approximately zero.

She turned on the television and flipped through the channels, making the mistake of pausing on a news broadcast. Her heart sank into her stomach and she stared at the screen without really paying much attention. It'd been months, but the sentencing of Charles VanAlstyne was still the talk of the town. Stock had plummeted. Their business suffered slightly, but mostly it was their family name that was tarnished for good. Amelia had to suppress the shame and embarrassment every time she signed her own name, which was frequently lately.

Maybe it was lucky everything was over for now. Charles would be held in a luxurious room in Arkham, where he couldn't bother anyone else, and he would stay there for good. She would hopefully never have to see or hear from him again. Unless more evidence turned up, which for all she knew was very likely.

And there she was on the screen. She didn't need to watch to know what would happen, as it only happened a few hours ago. She turned off the television and ran her fingers ruefully through the thick glob of mud in her hair.

Last night they had one of those big, summer storms with lots of lightning and rain that sounded like stampeding elephants. She'd managed to get herself up before noon for the first time since graduation to get dressed and look at least halfway presentable for the press, who would undoubtedly show up at the courthouse.

After everything was settled and decided with the judge, Amelia had tried to escape without being interviewed, but it hadn't worked as well as she had hoped. Instead, she'd been swarmed completely upon exit, and everyone was asking question upon question at the same time until all their words melted together to sound like mindless chattering.

Then the crowed had started jeering loudly. Everyone took a step back and the police started dispersing, but they couldn't contain them before someone had managed to pelt her completely with mud. She remembered the loud _smack _it made against her cheek, and the awful smell. And the grimey, gritty feeling under her fingernails as she tried to rake it off while dazed and confused.

The next thing she knew was that someone had their hands on her and pushed her roughly through the crowd. She almost lost a shoe as they dragged her into the alley and then through the back entrance of a nearby restaurant so swiftly that no one had been able to follow.

When she was shoved down into a chair was the first time she had the opportunity to gather her surroundings. She had mud all down her back and in her hair. And above her, with such a furious expression on his face it made _her _afraid, was standing none other than James Moretti. His fists clenched and unclenched, a tic formed in his clenched jaw, and she knew that if anyone were to set him on edge even a little he probably wouldn't hesitate to beat them to a bloody pulp.

The old Italian cook standing behind James looked like he didn't know what to do with the sudden intrusion. "Um, excuse me, sir? You're not supposed—" he stopped abruptly when James gave him a look so cold it could freeze hell.

"Get me a wet towel," he ordered.

The man produced a towel within seconds and James turned back to Amelia, suddenly all charismatic smiles. "You're looking pretty rough, VanAlstyne."

He reached forward to wipe her cheek. She quickly slapped his hand away and snatched the towel from him, doing it herself. "Don't touch me, I don't know what diseases you carry. I think I'd rather deal with the mud. And honestly, you can do all you want to convince me otherwise, but I still think you're an ass."

He winced dramatically and placed a hand over his heart. "That hurts, it really does. And here I thought frigid bitch was just an ironic nickname."

Amelia rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her purse to call Charfield. "You and I both know very well that you're the one who started calling me that in the first place. And for future reference, if you want to get on a girl's good side, insulting them is not the way to do it. You're such a child."

"In my defense, I tried being nice the first time. It didn't work."

"You and I clearly have different definitions of 'nice'."

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm a saint."

The old cook shot him a glare. "Excuse me, sir—" he was interrupted again by another of James' cold stares.

Amelia frowned and stole the cigarette right out from between his lips, stormed outside, and crushed it under her heel on the sidewalk where she stood and waited for the car.

"Hey!" he complained and chased after her. "What was that for?"

She ignored him.

"I did save you, you know. I'm a regular hero. You should be thanking me."

No response. Heroes were still a sore subject.

He frowned. "You know, I haven't seen you around in months. At all. No one has."

"So, what, are you following me now?"

"That's not my point. Did you get my messages?"

"Yeah, they made pretty good kindling."

"Amelia?"

"What?"

"Come to my sister's art show with me tomorrow night."

She gave him a glare. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Well, if I ask, I know you won't say yes. So yeah, I guess I'm telling you." He gave her another charismatic smile that had probably won over dozens of girls before her and ran his fingers through his sandy blonde hair in a way that was probably meant to make her swoon.

"You are _so _full of yourself it's disgusting!"

"Please?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"Forget about it!" Charfield _finally _pulled up at the curb, his face full of both concern and confusion. She rushed toward the car, but James ran in front of her and pressed himself up against the door so she couldn't get in.

"Amelia VanAlstyne," he asked breathlessly, "please do me the honor of coming to my sister's art show with me. If you do, I promise I'll stop bothering you forever."

It took all her power to keep her from hitting him. She raised an eyebrow. "Forever?"

"You heard me."

"Well, then you've got yourself a deal, Mr. Moretti. Now get the hell away from my car."

…

Amelia sighed and mulled over her current predicament, putting the bottle up to her lips only to find that she had finished it without realizing. Her mouth had a strong, sweet bite in it and her head spun.

A hand appeared and took the bottle from her grasp, placing it back onto the countertop beside the half-full glass she had abandoned earlier. "Ignoring the fact that you still have four years until you're of-age," Charfield scolded, "you really shouldn't be drinking."

"What are you," she scoffed, "my therapist? Besides, it's a Tuesday. Tuesdays are hard."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"It's five o'clock somewhere. We can fly there if you would prefer. Just let me shower first because I'm currently covered in shit."

He rolled his eyes. Sure, he had been furious earlier, but he wasn't about to entertain Amelia's anticfs. "You're not going anywhere. Just sit there and sober up where no one can see you."

"You sound like my grandmother." Amelia wrinkled her nose in distaste and imitated her grandmother's high-pitched, proper voice, "Stay inside, Amelia. Don't let anyone see you, Amelia. Avoid the cameras, Amelia. Do try to stay out of trouble, Amelia, we don't want a repeat performance, do we? Oh Amelia, why do you always cause me such _headaches _you're positively _incorrigible_."

Charfield stared at her in thought for a moment, not really sure what to say. "That last one was pretty accurate," he eventually observed. "Though you really ought to get out more and hang out with your friends."

Amelia returned his suggestion with a doubtful stare. "_Pfft, _like I _have _friends."

"But you _should _go out, regardless."

Ignoring the fact that he no longer fought her declaration of having no friends, she sat up in her seat and informed him matter-of-factly, "Actually, I am going out. Tomorrow night."

He frowned. "With who?"

"James Moretti."

He rolled his eyes again. "Seriously, Amelia, you really need to get out."

"I _am_ being serious. I don't know why, but he was pretty insistent about me going to his sister's art show with him tomorrow night."

"And you _agreed_?"

"He said he'd stop harassing me forever. I figure one night of hell is worth a lifetime of peace, am I right? Besides, I want to see what he's up to. I'm curious."

"I don't like it."

"I never asked you to like it."

"I don't think you should go."

"And that's why I didn't ask you."

Charfield let out a low groan. "I'm going to get some rest," he snapped and walked in the direction of his room. "I have a migraine."

…

Amelia sat down on the lounge, folded her hands on her stomach, and stared at the ceiling for approximately five minutes.

"So, you're not in a very talkative mood today, Miss VanAlstyne?"

"You ask that every week."

"Well, it seems to be true every week."

Amelia sat up and took a long look at the middle-aged woman sitting across from her. "And every week I tell you again and again, I'm _fine_. I don't need a shrink. You're boring."

"Can you tell me what you mean by 'fine'?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I'm just fine. There's nothing wrong with me."

"So you consider yourself to be physically 'fine'?"

She raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "Look at me, I'm more than _fine_."

"So you're sleeping at night?"

No. The nightmares would wake her up screaming and wake Charfield, which ended up in him coddling her like an invalid. Eventually she just started staying awake until her body shut down and fell into a sleep so deep she didn't dream. "Like a baby."

"And you're happy with yourself?"

"Thrilled."

"Thoughts of suicide? Are you drinking?"

"Nope. Dry as a whistle." She had woken up in the morning still drunk from the night before and the terrible hangover was starting to settle in between her temples.

"How do you feel about yourself? Has anything changed since last week?"

"I'm still think pretty highly of myself, if that's what you're asking. That's not going to change. Ever. Your question is invalid."

"How's Charfield doing?"

"Good."

"Does he like the new apartment?"

"He likes that he doesn't have to clean up after himself, so yeah I guess."

"Do you like it there?"

"It's cool. I like having my own apartment."

Dr. Carter sat forward in her seat like a cat just about to pounce on a mouse. Amelia wasn't sure if she should be worried or excited because if she got decent information out of Amelia she might let her go early. "Do you? Why do you think that is?"

"I don't have to put up with other people's shit."

"What do you mean, put up with other people?"

"Put up with their _shit_," Amelia corrected. "They treat me like I'm broken and fragile. I can handle myself."

"So you want people to stop treating you like a child?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say in question form?" she snapped. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Have you told them that?"

"Yes, but the last shrink told them not to believe me. He was a dick. He told everyone I was a manipulative pathological liar with some sort of disorder. I got him fired."

"How?"

Amelia's eyebrows raised, "I'm not about to reveal my secrets." She glanced down at her watch and sprung up. "Look at that! Time's up. Bye."

She actually had ten minutes to go, but before Dr. Carter had an opportunity to say otherwise she had run from the room and down the front steps to where Charfield had parked and was waiting for her.

Before she could get even half way to the parking lot a short woman with a small notebook in hand appeared from nowhere out in front of her. Amelia jumped. "Amelia VanAlstyne," she said breathlessly. "How are you dealing with the news?"

Amelia didn't know what the woman was talking about, nor did she feel like granting _any _sort of attention to yet another reporter. She had a splitting headache and the only thing she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with was a bottle of advil and her bed.

"Miss, please," the woman chased after her as a car pulled up and a pile of people with cameras flooded out, reminiscent of the clown cars she had seen at the circus when she was younger. "How are you feeling?"

Just as she was being surrounded by people chirping their questions Charfield appeared by her side and helped her push her way through. They were afraid of him, as they should be. He was giving them a glare so dangerous it made _her _feel uncomfortable. "Don't listen to them," he bent down to mutter in her ear as he roughly shoved away one particularly pushy photographer.

"How does it feel to be heir to the fortune? The last one left?"

_What _were these people talking about? Finally she whirled around and grabbed the shorter man who had just spoken by the front of his shirt. He looked intimidated and swallowed nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard about _what_?"

Charfield tugged at her arm and tried to break her attention, but she swatted him away without breaking her eye contact with the man.

"Your g-g-g-grandmother," he stuttered, suddenly shaking, no doubt in response to the look Charfield was probably giving him from over her shoulder. "She j—" a fist came out of nowhere and he was on the ground, Charfield looming over his now bloody form.

"You should all leave," he seethed as he shoved Amelia roughly into the back seat of the car. "_Now_!" He shut the door after him and started the car.

Amelia leapt forward and grabbed the headrest of the passenger's side seat. "Are you crazy?! You just knocked that guy out!"

His expression softened only slightly. He looked sad. "Have you checked your phone? I've been trying to call you."

"No. You know I can't check my phone when I'm with the shrink." She pulled the thing out of her pocket to find she had dozens of missed calls, texts, and voicemails from numerous people, some of them numbers she didn't even have saved to her contacts list. "What's going on?"

Charfield took a deep breath. "Your grandmother's gone," he said, his voice low.

"What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"She died. Early this morning."

That's stupid. Her grandmother was in perfect health. No. "How?"

"Amelia, I really don't—"

"Charfield, I'm not an infant. I'm not stupid and you don't need to shelter me," she snapped. "Now tell me the truth."

"She jumped from VanAlstyne towers."

"Oh."

It was quiet for a while until he pulled into the parking garage. "Are you alright?" he asked tentatively.

"Don't be stupid. In fact, if you have anything to say except 'Here's another bottle of wine, Miss VanAlstyne' I'd rather you not speak at all." She pushed the call button on the elevator and fumed in silence. Charfield placed a hand at the base of her neck and ran his thumb back and forth along her hairline. She folded her arms across her chest but didn't object.

"Do you want me to come up?" he asked as the elevator doors opened. This afternoon was supposed to be his time off.

"No," she shrugged. "I'm just going to go to bed. I'm tired."

"Are you sure?"

"Goodbye, Charfield." Amelia rolled her eyes as she pressed the door close button.

The first thing Amelia noticed upon entering the apartment was that all the lights were on. Amelia made sure never to leave the lights on when she left. She'd watched a documentary once about baby polar bears. She didn't want to be responsible for that shit. Killing bugs was one thing, killing cute things was totally different.

"Hello, Amelia," a familiar female voice called out.

Amelia jumped as her gaze darted over to the woman sitting in the chair. She was significantly tanner than Amelia remembered her being, but the light blonde hair and piercing blue eyes of Jane VanAlstyne were unmistakable. "Mom?" she frowned. This was the first time Amelia had seen her mother since she had left for India—she hadn't even bothered to visit her when she had been in the hospital. "What are you doing here?"

"Amelia, darling," her mother repeated, "we have to talk."

Amelia's stomach sank. This didn't sound promising.

…..

A/N: Yes, it took me a long time to get this up. Yes, it's short. No worries, they will get a _lot _longer, happier, and more action-packed very soon. Just keep in mind that these longer chapters along with my crazy schedule means I won't be updating very much. Please don't be upset, I haven't given up!


	8. Part 2, Chapter 2

"So," Amelia asked slowly, "what's so important? You came all the way from India just to visit little 'ole me just for shits and giggs?"

"California. I've been there for a month."

Well. That was news. "And?"

"And I'm not particularly fond of the current situation."

There was no way Amelia could have suppressed her eye roll. "Yeah, if my mother jumped off of a skyscraper it would kind of put a bit of a damper on my day, too."

"_Amelia_!" Jane looked disgusted for a moment, but then continued, "That's not exactly what I was referring to. What I was talking about was simply the will. See, there's a bit of a problem—she left everything to you."

She had begun to suspect as much, but she really didn't see what that had to do with her mother, who couldn't care less about the business. "So?"

"So I need you to change that."

"Why?"

"Because I owe a lot of money, Amelia, and I _deserve _it."

"So you're trying to convince me to hand you over a company because you admittedly suck with finances and have lost billions of dollars over the course of the last twenty-ish years, all due to the fact that you have some convoluted notion that it's _owed _to you? You must think I'm an idiot." Amelia snorted and flopped down onto the couch. Her patience with her mother had left long before she arrived here. She'd had plenty of time to stew in the hospital and during her grueling physical therapy sessions over the woman's selfishness and had definitively decided that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

Jane's face turned red. "I deserve that money. You don't know what I had to go through living with that man. He's a monster."

"What did he do, coddle you to death?"

"Don't belittle me, you know exactly what he's done!"

Amelia was confused for just a moment before everything clicked and she shot straight up out of her chair in fury. "You knew!" she shouted. "You knew everything the whole time and you _still _sent me to live with him so you could get high in India and look at pretty elephants!"

"He wouldn't have hurt you," Jane scoffed.

"He _shot_ me!"

"Because you don't know how to mind your own business! You would have been fine otherwise. Don't be a child."

"Shooting a seventeen-year-old is _not _okay on this or any other planet, just like sending a seventeen-year-old to go live with a serial killer is not okay. Actually, knowing that someone has murdered people and not telling anyone about it isn't okay, either."

"Don't you lecture me!" Jane stood up and towered over Amelia. "I'm your mother and you will give me the respect I deserve!"

"That's funny because you don't deserve any."

She put her hand to her temple. "Alright, Amelia. I'll give you some time to think about this because I'm obviously not getting through to you. But think, in all honestly, do you even have the knowledge to take care of this company you want so much? Do you _honestly _think you're capable of handling this?"

She was right. Amelia hated it when she was right. "No…" she shrugged. "But Charfield does. He's a genius."

Jane frowned. "You need to stay away from that boy," she hissed. "I'm serious. He's no good."

"Really? He's done a better job at keeping me alive than you ever have."

"Please listen to me, for once in your life, he's _not _good for you."

"You need to leave." Amelia pointed toward the door. "Breaking into my apartment, insulting my intelligence, and threatening me is one thing. Insulting my friends is another. The next time you think of stopping by, do yourself a favor and don't act on it, because you aren't welcome here."

…

Why Amelia had given James her number was beyond her, but he'd texted her shortly after her mother left while she was still fuming on the couch. 'I'm sorry about your grandmother,' it said, 'you don't have to come tonight. I get it.'

She frowned and texted back, 'I need to get out of the house. And I'm not about to pass up on the opportunity to never have to talk to you again.'

'taking your sexual frustration out on your object of desire is so elementary. It's not my fault you're attracted to me.'

Amelia groaned and promptly turned her phone off. She laid down to take a nap, but once she closed her eyes there was a buzz at the door.

"Come in," she called unenthusiastically.

"Mister James Moretti wanted this delivered to you, Miss," a woman, probably someone Charfield had hired to take care of her mess, said. "I'll leave it here for you." She placed a long, thin box on the coffee table and a vase containing at least a dozen white roses, then scurried out as quickly as she came.

Amelia was already starting to get tired of the boy and she hadn't even seen him today. She threw open the box to find a long navy, silk gown. If you could call it a gown, there was hardly much fabric there. It had a plunging neckline, no back, and a long slit up the side.

One thing was certain: there was no way in hell she would ever wear it. In fact, she had a very tasteful crew-necked dress with long, slouchy sleeves she'd been looking for an excuse to wear. Now she had one.

She glanced at the clock and realized that she probably should have started getting ready a while ago. It took her a few hours to look passable by her own standards—given, she had very high standards and she hadn't gotten properly dressed up in so long that her skills were rusty. That and she usually wasn't the one doing her own hair and makeup.

It was only a short ride across the city, but she was still late when she arrived at the venue. James was outside smoking a cigarette, waiting for her. When he saw she wasn't wearing the dress he had sent her he looked mildly disappointed, though not at all surprised.

"Finally," he said as he approached her. He tried to place his arm around her waist to usher her into the building, but she slapped his hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. Without missing a beat, he forced his arm through the crook in her elbow and led her inside. "It's so stuffy in there. It's all art snobs and old people."

Amelia pushed him away. "I can walk on my own. And don't forget, I'm only here so you'll stop harassing me."

"How could I forget? I must have heard it a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours." He swiped a glass of champagne off of a tray and handed it to her. "And please try to loosen up. I don't want people to think my date has a stick up her ass—it's not good for my image. I have a reputation to uphold."

She was beginning to doubt her resolve. "_You're _the one who begged me to come with you!"

"Victoria!" he ignored her and ushered over a blonde woman who was standing with her husband chatting with another group. "Victoria, this is my, um… friend Amelia. Amelia, this is my sister Victoria."

Amelia hadn't even had an opportunity to look at the art yet considering the fact that she'd been so involved with thinking up ways to tell James off for being a little prick. Honestly, she didn't know why he had wanted her to come, and she was beginning to doubt her own sanity for actually agreeing to it. "It's nice to meet you, Victoria. Your work is lovely."

They exchanged pleasantries and made small talk for a few minutes while James stared at the ceiling impatiently. Eventually Victoria left to go mingle with the rest of her friends and family and they were left alone again, slowly making their way around from painting to painting.

"Why did you want me to come here with you if you're only going to annoy me the whole night? Or was that the point? One last hurrah?" she demanded in a hushed voice.

"Because," he stated simply, "I always get what I want."

Was that it? This was all about stroking his ego? She rolled her eyes. "Well, that's never going to happen. You're a misogynistic pig and the only reason I'm restraining myself from hitting you is because one—I don't need to make my day any worse by making a fool of myself, and two—if I manage to endure this I'll never have to see you again."

"You, my dear, are not nearly as smart as you think you are."

"How sure are you about that? Because I think I'm pretty damn clever."

"So I've gathered." He called over a waitress serving some sort of dessert and offered one to her. "Fruit tart?"

"I think I can do without," Amelia said without really paying much attention. At this point she was finally able to get a good look at some of the paintings, some of which were incredible. James fell silent beside her for so long that it took her a few moments to realize he had run off.

Well, at least she wouldn't have to deal with _him _anymore.

"You're really weird," Victoria's voice beside her made Amelia jump. "Not in a bad way, but… how can I put this without sounding like a bitch? You're not my brother's type."

"We're not dating," Amelia corrected carefully, trying not to sound as annoyed as she was. Would everyone automatically assume she was some random gold-digging skank now that she'd been seen in public with him?

_No, you've been on the news too much recently for them to _not _recognize you._

Victoria snorted. "James doesn't date. He doesn't actually let us meet anyone, either. I usually just get updates on his life from bloggers."

"Actually, James and I aren't friends. I don't even like him."

Victoria took that better than Amelia had thought she would. She shrugged. "Then why are you here?"

"He's been bothering me lately and said he'd stop for good if I came with him. So here I am."

After a moment of consideration, Victoria laughed. "That sounds like him. He's a stubborn ass if you get under his skin enough. You must have really pissed him off. Speaking of which," her voice dropped as she looked somewhere over Amelia's shoulder, "he really doesn't like that I'm talking to you right now."

Amelia glanced over discretely. James was in deep conversation with his father and looked as superficially charming as ever. "How can you tell?"

"He keeps glancing over here and I'm pretty sure he's downed about two glasses of wine in the past five minutes we've been talking."

"Is there any reason he should be nervous?"

"I don't think—"

"—Victoria," James suddenly materialized by her side and interrupted, "do you mind if I borrow Miss Amelia for a moment?"

Without waiting for a reply, James tugged Amelia's arm and led her out to the side of the building with him, where no one was around. It wasn't the most beautiful of sights and it only served to remind her that Gotham wasn't exactly the most beautiful of cities.

"Hey!" Amelia yanked herself away. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. And quite frankly, I don't understand why the hell I came here in the first place if you're just going to ditch me. Care to elaborate on the matter?"

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply a few times, leaning back against the brick wall before replying. "I don't think this is working out," he said.

"What do you mean 'not working out'? This was your idea."

"I know. It was a badidea."

She frowned. "Are you trying to tell me to leave?"

He took another drag on the cigarette. "I'm not saying you _have _to go."

"Are you fucking kidding me? You almost got hit with a car while trying to force me to come to this shit and now you're _kicking me out_?"

"Don't talk to me like that," he snarled angrily. "It's not like I expected you to swoop in and weasel your way in with my family."

"You think I give a damn about your family?" Amelia laughed bitterly, even though her instincts were telling her she probably should have backed down a while ago. "You're crazy! You're not making any sense! So what? Your sister talked to me. I don't see what the big deal is."

"It's a big deal to me."

"You've got a few screws loose. Seriously, I'll give you my therapist's number. You need it."

"You don't even want to be here, so why don't you just go?"

Amelia threw her hands up in the air and stomped down the alleyway toward the street where she could go call her driver. "Fine!"

"Fine! See you never!"

She whirled around to scream back at him, "Great, looking forward to it!"

"Me too, sweetheart!"

"Get a shrink!"

"I won't need one once _you're_ gone!" he pointed at her accusingly.

She was about to yell some retort, something stupid she couldn't even remember, when tires squealed behind her. James' eyes went wide and he started to run toward her, but that was the last thing she saw. Someone shoved a sack over her head. They pulled her backward into a vehicle and shut the door. She could hear James' muffled screaming from the other side, but it all happened too quickly for her to breathe a word.

The tires squealed again as the vehicle started and she slid and hit the far wall with a hard, painful thud. Someone grabbed her and tied her hands and feet together, but then she was alone in the back of the truck, sliding from wall to wall every time they made a sharp turn.

It took her a few moments to realize what had actually happened.

She was tied up in the back of a van with a sack over her head. She didn't know where she was or who she was with. The only thing she knew for certain was that they probably weren't girl scouts trying a new marketing technique.

Her hands shook and she forced herself against the far corner. Her heart raced and she tried to breathe but felt like no matter what she did she couldn't get enough oxygen. Again. It was happening again, except this time she didn't have any weapon to protect herself with.

"What do you want from me?" she asked with as loud and steady a voice she could muster.

"You're not the one we—" one man started.

"—shut up," a woman interrupted him in hushed tones as the car swerved again. "Are you an idiot?"

Not the one? So they didn't actually care about her? The thought made Amelia less panicked for a moment. If they didn't want her, they may let her go when this was over. On the other hand, not being an asset just made her that much more expendable. Expendable wasn't good.

Who or what _did _they want? Her head spun. What would kidnapping her prove? There was no one to pay ransom. She didn't have any friends or family besides Charfield who were crazy enough to try to find her, and the only people who would have any issues with him were probably sitting in financial aid offices somewhere in Connecticut.

"Not to burst your bubbles, but are you sure you have the right person? I'm under the impression that you need someone who actually gives a shit about you in order to make good bait, but I could be wrong. You guys are the professionals."

No one answered.

"Honestly guys, the closest thing I have to a friend is that asshole back there. You don't want me."

"Will you shut her up?" the woman hissed.

The man sighed. Amelia could hear him moving around and the sound of ripping fabric. Within moments the sack came flying off of her head and was replaced with both a gag and a blindfold. The fabric tasted salty, dirty, and the sensation of it pressed between her teeth made her cringe.

The man's face had looked vaguely familiar, as well. She had seen him before, once. A long time ago. She couldn't place it. The only thing she could picture in her head were reflections off still water or glass. It was an eerie feeling. Saliva filled her mouth and swallowing was made harder by the fact that there was a giant rag in her mouth.

She better get rescued by the time she was covered in drool.

As if on cue, there was a large, metallic thud on the top of the van and the vehicle squealed to a stop. There was a sound of scuffling and a few shouts, but within a few moments she was lifted and sat down on the dirt outside the van.

First, they took off her gag. "You know if you had untied me I could have walked myself out, right? You really ought to think these things through."

With a laugh, her rescuer finally took off her blindfold.

And before her was none other than the Boy Wonder himself, a blonde girl and ginger boy beside him. They were all in complete costume.

"So, what, we passed Comic-con on the way?"

"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor," Dick remarked as he cut her arms and legs free with a knife.

"And you haven't lost the tacky tights. Who's this?" she asked, motioning toward the blonde girl, "The Leprechaun and her Irish sidekick?"

"We're _not _sidekicks—"

Dick ignored his ginger friend as if the outburst didn't even phase him. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Amelia insisted as she swatted away his hands, which were probing her wrists and ankles for injury. "I have a headache. Nothing a few pills can't fix."

He nodded. "Well, then this is Artemis," he said, pointing to the girl, "and this is Kid Flash."

"You can ignore him," Artemis informed, glancing over at Kid Flash while rolling her eyes, "we try to."

"For the record, I'd just like to point out that _I _was the one who—"

"I'm going to go check out the van," Dick interrupted the boy and motioned toward the vehicle, which was a short ways across the street. "You stay here with Amelia," he ordered Artemis, then turned to Kid Flash, "and you keep an eye on those two." He motioned toward the man and woman bound and gagged a few feet away from her. Amelia hadn't even noticed them. They were quiet, barely putting up a struggle.

Amelia frowned. "Hey," she called, "does this mean you've been following me?"

"That depends on what you mean by follow," Dick called back. "I prefer to call it 'keeping tabs'."

"Didn't I tell you to stop 'keeping tabs'?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"So when I say 'I need some time and space' essentially you hear 'how about you just stalk the shit out of me and as long as I don't notice we're good'."

"Stalking is such a harsh term."

It took all of Amelia's willpower to not go over and hit him.

"Besides," he continued, "you're safe, right? Isn't that all that matters?"

"No."

"Are you always this difficult? Or is just with people who actually care about you?"

"We're not friends," Amelia argued. And she really didn't like having this conversation in front of his weird friends in masks.

Dick poked his head out of the driver's seat window as he fiddled with some electronics in his lap. "That doesn't mean I don't care."

Amelia was about to argue further when she faltered. "Wait—" she was missing something right in front of her. Something she'd forgotten in her panic and adrenaline. When she remembered, her heart leapt into her throat and she suppressed a scream. "Get out of the car!"

"What?"

Too late.

There was a deafening roar. Everything was hot, the type of heat that scorched her lungs, and Artemis' body was heavy on top of her.

"_Dick_!" she let out a strangled cry, but it was totally inaudible. In fact, she could barely hear anything. Not even the fire or the explosions. It was like her head had been shoved under hot water. She stood up wobbly and tried to get to him, but Artemis' body blocked her. She yelled something at Amelia, but Amelia couldn't hear it or read her lips.

This was her fault. She should have realized sooner that it was a trap. No, she shouldn't have let them take her in the first place. She should have been able to stop them. She was so _stupid._ None of this was Dick's responsibility.

Stupid Amelia, letting everyone she'd ever cared about get hurt. Again.

No. She had to get to him. She grabbed Artemis' ponytail and yanked it down in one quick jerk, catching her off guard and knocking her off balance. A sharp kick to the back of the heels was enough to send her toppling over.

Amelia rushed into the smoke, but it burned her eyes. She couldn't see for anything. Where was he?

There. A few meters off, she spotted a black mass with legs. She ran toward him and dropped to her knees, shaking him gently. "Dick? Are you alright?"

She couldn't hear anything, and she was sure he wasn't capable of hearing either. He unwrapped himself from his cape. "Fireproof," he mouthed in explanation. He had a gash on his forehead, but besides that he looked relatively unharmed.

Relief flooded her. She thought of so many things to say: "Thank god you're okay," "I'm sorry," "you scared me," but she didn't have the energy to say any of them. Instead, she threw her arms around him.

A siren sounded not far off and there was a hand on her shoulder. Kid Flash broke her attention. "We have to get out of here," he explained and helped Dick up. "Are you alright?"

Amelia nodded, and glanced over to Artemis, who was rubbing her scalp with a grimace. She would have apologized, but she wasn't really sorry. In fact, she probably would have done it again in a heartbeat.

"If you ever try anything like that again," she called to Dick as she watched them go, "I'll kill you myself."


	9. Part 2, Chapter 3

This had become a daily routine. For the past week and a half, Amelia would sit at her desk for hours on end, sliding the small slip of paper back and forth between her fingers across the surface of the dark, polished wood. The clock in the corner clicked loudly and the apartment hummed around her.

Charfield appeared at the door. "Hey," he started, "I was thinking… what's that?"

"Nothing," Amelia answered as she quickly shoved the wrinkled piece of paper back into her wallet. His sudden appearance probably shouldn't have startled her as much as it did, as he'd taken to checking up on her every half an hour like he was afraid she'd disappear. He and her shrink had had some quality bonding time, after which he had regressed back into treating her like she was five again. She tucked her hair behind her ear and shrugged. "So, you were thinking? That's news. Tell me more. Did it hurt?"

"Well," he looked troubled and hesitated for a moment before sitting down on an armchair in the corner, "I was thinking—"

"So I've heard."

He shot her a warning glare. "I know in the past everyone was encouraging you to tough it out here because we thought it would help, but… I don't see any reason for you to stay in Gotham anymore. Actually, I think a change of scenery would be good for you."

Amelia frowned. After all the speeches everyone had given her in the past about it being good for her to get out and make friends, after all the time Charfield himself had told her he was glad she was being forced to stay here because it would do her good to not get everything that she wanted for a change, after all that and more, now _he _was suggesting she leave? "It's a good thing I don't pay you to think."

"Amelia," he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You're… depressed. You don't hang out with anyone anymore, hell, you don't even go outside. Everyone you graduated with has been calling you for the past week to make sure you're okay and you've been completely ignoring them."

"And you think totally uprooting me would make that better?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Anything's better than watching you sit here and read all day."

Amelia rolled her eyes and crossed her legs up on top of the desk. What surprised her most was her own unwillingness to move. Her stomach turned at the thought. She _wanted _to stay, and she would fight anyone tooth and nail to do it. "I don't always read, sometimes I watch television. Besides, I like it here. I'm staying."

The shock was visible on his features. "You hate it here. You've been begging to go since day one."

"Well I'm not about to quit and run away now. I'm staying."

"Fine," he threw up his arms in surrender, "you do what you want. But just promise me that if you need help… or anything… that you'll, uh-."

"If I plan on practicing my swan dive off the ledge of the nearest skyscraper I'll call you, okay? You can go now."

He was about to scold her, but her therapist had probably told him something about her poor coping mechanisms. Truthfully, Amelia wasn't sure if she was just depressed or if she really _was _as emotionally stunted as she thought she was.

Once she was alone again, she slapped the slip of paper back onto the countertop and held her phone loosely between her fingers.

Well, she wasn't about to leave Gotham. She knew that much now. She wasn't one to run from her problems like that, at least, not anymore.

She hated that everyone felt the need to protect her. She wasn't an infant. Even now, Charfield was trying to shelter her by relocating her somewhere new. And Dick, who had risked his life to help her before, had just almost died trying to do so again. Every time she replayed the scene in her head, her heart sank a little more. At the time she really had been certain that he'd died. Everyone she cared about had a nasty habit of almost getting killed at her expense.

But most of all, more than her need to prove that she could take care of herself, more than her stubbornness keeping her rooted, more than the love she had for her friends and her drive to keep _them _as safe as she could by keeping them having to worry about her own safety, she was sick as hell of simply _surviving._ It wasn't enough anymore. She'd been living day-to-day and relying on anyone but herself for how long now? It was her first instinct to say the past few months, but really, it was probably her entire life. She'd never had the opportunity to live on her own terms.

That woman, the Catwoman, was wrong. Amelia wasn't just a survivor. She wanted to do so much more than that. Every day she woke up bored and miserable, the poor little rich girl who had everything anyone could want, but it still wasn't enough. She didn't want the money, what good had it ever done her? All it had done was painted a target on her back. No one _actually _felt sorry for her or took her seriously, because after all, what excuse did she have for being unhappy? Didn't money buy happiness? At least, that's what everyone had always told her. She'd never believed it. If money could have bought her happiness, she'd have done it long ago. All it had ever done was make her angry.

The Cat had gotten one thing right, though: Amelia definitely wasn't afraid to get what she wanted.

She dialed the phone number and pressed send.

The phone rang for the longest time. Every ring sent Amelia's heart deeper into her stomach. What would happen if she didn't answer? What if it was all fake? What would she do then?

Eventually an angry, female voice answered, "Do you even _know _what time it is? Can you _read_?"

Amelia frowned. "You're the one who told me to call."

There was a sudden intake of breath and the woman's voice returned to the low, dangerous purr Amelia was more accustomed to. "I'd just about given up on you."

"Don't act so excited, how do you know I'm not turning you in to the police?"

Amelia could hear the smile in her voice. "I have my ways, sweetheart. So, you rang?"

"You remember your offer from last Winter?"

"How can I forget? It's not often a girl like me gets turned down."

"I'm in."

There was a brief moment of silence before the woman asked slowly, "In for what, exactly? What do you want?"

She wanted it too much to feel embarrassed for asking. "I want you to teach me," she insisted. "Teach me how to stop being… weak."

Catwoman laughed. "Honey, I can't do that."

"What do you mean you _can't_? That's exactly what you said you _could _do."

"I mean no one can. You're never not going to be weak."

Amelia didn't like the direction this was going in. She crossed her arms across her chest and frowned. "I didn't call you for your Confucian wisdom, I called you to help me. So are you up to the job or not?"

"I'm not someone you can just _hire _sweetheart, and I never said I could stop you from being weak," she snapped, the annoyance in her voice was apparent. "What I _can _do, though, is help you make up for those weak spots. Toughen you up a bit… for a price."

"What's in it for you?"

"Didn't your mommy ever teach you that if you're good at something, never do it for free?" She paused for a moment. "No, I suppose not."

Amelia definitely didn't like the direction this was going in. She stood and shut the door before asking, "So, how much are we talking?"

"Oh I don't want your money, darling." The woman's voice turned very business-like, "I need your skills. Or at least the skills you'll have once I teach them to you. Moretti's boy, he likes you."

"So?"

"I happen to have an interest in his father's business."

"Why?" James Moretti dealt more with drugs and arms than anything. Sure, he was dangerous, but he wasn't known for any particularly expensive jewels or anything of the sort Catwoman was prone to stealing. Amelia had done some research before she actually decided to make the call. His men had gotten a few good bullets into a couple members of the Justice League, but never Catwoman herself.

"It's personal," Catwoman explained. "If you have access to the son you'll have access to his father. Besides, little James is bound to start walking in his daddy's footsteps sooner than later."

The image of James in deep conversation with his father during the art show popped up in her head. Could it have really been business they'd been talking about? "It won't work, James doesn't let girls near his family." Amelia rolled her eyes as she remembered his outburst after the art show. "He's crazy, anyway. Can't you just force what you want out of someone?"

"No. I need long-term access. Moretti's not going away any time soon and I want a constant eye on him."

"Impossible." Not to mention miserable. Having to regularly spend time with that boy? There was something very wrong with him. He was insane.

"Not if you force your way in. Make yourself special, use your womanly wiles. Think of it as lesson number one."

Amelia blanched. "What are you saying?"

"Call me when you've got it done. Until then, don't waste my time."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Show me how much you want it, sweetheart," she purred before abruptly hanging up the phone.

…

"Amelia?"

He was so pleased with himself, she could tell by his tone. Like a cat with a mouse between its paws. "James."

"Why are you calling? I had thought we'd agreed you wouldn't do that anymore."

"No," Amelia corrected, "we agreed that _you _wouldn't call anymore. Which…" she bit her lip and hated herself for what she was about to say next, "is sort of what I wanted to talk about."

"Yes?" The smile in his voice was apparent.

She stared up at the ceiling, praying for the willpower to maintain at the minimum a civil tone while in reality all the wanted to do was reach through the phone and ring his neck. "I was just, well, wondering…"

"Cough it up, VanAlstyne."

There was no way she could swallow the words before they spat out. "Why are you such an annoying little twat? Like, honestly? At first you were a jerk, which I could have dealt with, but then you turned into a crazy, stalker jerk and that I just can't ignore."

The other end was quiet for a moment, then, "_You _insulted _me_ first, just to set the record straight."

"Yeah, but only after you were a jerk to everyone else, and therefore worthy of insulting."

"You don't even like any of the people I insulted in the first place! You were looking for excuses to hate me from day one. Are you stupid?"

"Am I _stupid_?" Amelia groaned and her finger hovered over the end button. No. She couldn't hang up now. "Listen, I just want to know what your deal is. Why me? Why would you constantly call me and beg me to go with you to the art show if I'm the bitch you say I am? Why help me outside the courthouse?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm not a jerk, okay?" He let out a long sigh. "I'm not. I didn't do a very good job of showing it, but I'm not an asshole and I'm not crazy."

"Didn't do a very good job of showing it? You freaked out when your sister had a simple conversation with me and made a huge ass of yourself."

"Don't you think I felt like the biggest dickweed ever when I saw that guy shove a fucking bag over your head and lock you in the back of a van? I felt terrible, okay? The only reason I invited you in the first place was so that I could show you how wrong you were about me because you alwaysthink you're right about everything. It's infuriating. Happy?"

Amelia gaped and clutched the corner of the desk tightly in her hand. The point drilled into her palm painfully. "Let's get one thing straight, Moretti, I do _not _always think I'm right. You're so wrong."

"See?! See, that's what I'm talking about!" He was laughing. Laughing _at her. _Amelia's jaw clenched and all she wanted to do was scream. "You really are a piece of fucking work."

_Show me how much you want it._

Boy, Catwoman was going to owe her after this one.

"Go out with me."

"_What_?!"

Amelia held her breath for a moment to collect her thoughts, then continued. "You had an opportunity to try to prove me wrong, why don't you extend the same courtesy?"

"Fine."

"You know that club down the street from Wayne Towers?"

"Yeah?"

"Meet me there Saturday night at eleven."

"Fine."

"_Fine._"

…

Amelia's body had never hurt more in her life. And that was saying something, considering she'd been shot before.

"Again," Catwoman ordered from above her. "Now."

Amelia had always prided herself on her physical ability. She could run, she was flexible, and strong. But _this_, this was more than she was capable of. She couldn't even stand. She pushed herself, wobbling, up onto her hands and knees and looked at the clock.

Two hours.

It'd only been two hours and she was already reduced to crawling.

Catwoman put her foot up on Amelia's back and stepped down hard enough to cause her to fall again. Her cheek slammed against the floor. If she wasn't bruised tomorrow, she'd be red.

"Ow," Amelia groaned and took the opportunity to just savor the feeling of her body lying on the cold ground. "You're not playing fair."

"You think everyone else will? Come on, you're a helpless little girl, do you really think the guy coming at you with a gun will play fair?" Catwoman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, I let you put down mats. It could be worse."

"Yeah," Amelia muttered, her cheek pressed against the floor. "You're so kind. A real saint if I ever saw one."

"Come on, princess." Catwoman hoisted Amelia up by the back of her shirt and tossed her against the wall with ease. "You're not a cripple yet."

"That's subject to debate."

"If you have energy to complain," Catwoman said as she swept Amelia's feet out from under her and kicked her over onto some gym equipment, sending weights toppling over onto the ground, "you have energy to work with."

"You don't know _anything _about anatomy, do you?" Amelia pushed herself back onto her feet for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "Just because I can talk it doesn't mean I'm ready to run a marathon. Contrary to popular belief, my jaw isn't in any way related to my legs."

"Are you so sure?" Catwoman sent Amelia falling to the ground again after forcing her to dodge a few sudden punches. "Because it seems like every time you open your mouth, you completely lose your footing. Use your head for thinking, sweetheart, not talking." She sighed and tossed Amelia a towel and a water bottle. "Here, kid. I think you've done enough for the day."

"Really?" Amelia asked, eyeing the woman's hand before tentatively taking the water. Amelia had learned not to trust her after she'd tossed her to the ground in their initial hand-shake in the beginning of their lesson.

"No, I'm just tired of hearing you bitch and moan."

"Are you sure?" Amelia tried to get up, but her legs shook beneath her and she collapsed again. "I can keep going."

"Seriously, sit. You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't." Catwoman sat across from her, a more serious air about her. "Make sure to get lots of water, and stretch out before you go to bed tonight. It'll hurt, but honestly it'll be worse if you don't."

Amelia nodded. She didn't quite believe that this was happening still. Why was she doing this? It was crazy. Here, across from her, in her gym, was _the _Catwoman. The notorious thief. She should be turning her in, if she had any sort of lawful inclinations.

It struck Amelia at first about how normal she was. She was dressed plainly, like a woman going to the gym, with her hair down in a long, dark braid. The only thing strange about her was her mask, much like Dick's, that she had insisted she would wear until Amelia gave her more of a reason to trust her.

"Is this ever going to not be weird?" she asked, "Like, the whole masked criminal thing still gets me. It doesn't feel real."

"Probably, eventually, if you last that long." Catwoman shrugged. "Besides, we're both criminals. I just happen to be better at it and do it with more frequency."

"As you are always so quick to remind me."

"With reason. A big ego'll get someone like you killed pretty quick."

"Or, you know, any self-esteem whatsoever." Amelia took a moment to chug down the whole bottle of water and wipe the sweat away from her face. "Why do you seem to think I'm going to get myself killed, anyway? All I'm doing is learning how to fight and getting information for you about Moretti. It doesn't seem like such a big deal to me."

"Moretti's dangerous. Don't underestimate him." There was no purr or sass to her voice, just business. Her fingers brushed a couple scars along her arm. Remnants of a time when Catwoman was the one underestimating, Amelia guessed. "And I'm teaching you to fight with the hopes that you won't need to use it, but with the expectation that you will. Do you want to be underprepared? Because you could just take a karate class down the street. It would take a lot less effort."

"No." Amelia fidgeted with the empty bottle in her hands. "Do you really think Moretti would hurt me?"

"Absolutely," Catwoman answered quickly, not even batting an eyelash. "Without question. The boy, too, probably. The Morettis have done a number on a few people I really care about, a couple of them more defenseless than you. I think it's time they get a taste of their own medicine."

Amelia swallowed. Did she want to get involved in this? This was starting to resemble gang violence she'd only read about or seen in movies. She'd already had enough guns pointed at her for one lifetime, and she _really _didn't want to get shot again. "You sound almost like… Robin." Manly in the fact that they both seemed freakishly protective and could hold a grudge, but Amelia wasn't about to voice that out loud.

"Bat's boy?" Catwoman rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah, I suppose. Except if I'm going to do justice, I do it for a price. Once I feel like Moretti's suffered enough for what he's done, I'm going to rob him blind. And you know what? I'm not going to give a rat's ass. In fact, I know I'll enjoy it very much."

"You're not going to get him arrested?"

"What's the point? He'd never _stay _in jail_. _I'd rather let him wallow in his filth. Let him think about what he's done from the bottom of the totem pole with the rest of us. Well," she considered, "not with the likes of you or Wayne, but practically everyone else in this city."

"You really seem to hate us."

"Who?"

"People with money."

"Yeah, for the most part." Catwoman gave Amelia a long look up and down. "I don't know, kid. You haven't done anything yet to make me like or dislike the way you use it. I'll get back to you once I've made my decision."

"Don't bother," Amelia shrugged, "I don't really care what you think about me. I just was wondering, why?"

"Anyone who's anyone in this city hasn't gotten there without screwing someone over. And it's not that I hate them per se, it's that I like stealing from them because they can take it. A lot of what I do is for the hell of it, because I'm really, _really _good."

"You don't feel bad because it's illegal?"

"Honestly?" Catwoman shook her head. "No. Just because something's illegal it doesn't make it wrong, and just because something's legal doesn't make it right. There are plenty of people out there, most of them with boatloads of money, who deserve to be in prison but aren't because they're above the law. Your grandfather, for example. Do you really think he'd have the biggest room in Arkham if he wasn't wiping his ass with hundreds? No, he'd probably be in Belle Reve waiting to get a needle in his arm."

Amelia cringed. It was something she really didn't want to think about. In her head, she was trying to imagine that her grandfather was just dead, or going on a long vacation. She'd never have to see him again. He'd never done anything wrong, or anything to hurt her in the least. Just absent from her life.

She glanced at the clock. "I should probably get going," she explained. "I have to mentally prepare myself to seduce the biggest jackass known to man."

Catwoman laughed. "You'll remember why you're doing it when you can barely stand in the morning. The pain'll be a great reminder."

Amelia gave her a droll stare. "Yeah, and not a very good one. Are you sure this is a good idea? I'm not very charming. I think my wiles were either broken or nonfunctional upon birth."

"You'll do great, kid. Knock him dead."

Amelia turned around to joke about taking that literally, but Catwoman was gone. She'd disappeared entirely. "Damn," she mused to herself, "I want to learn how to do that."


	10. Part 2, Chapter 4

An immediate frown appeared on James' face as soon as Amelia came into view. She'd expected it. In fact, she'd counted on it. She'd purposefully worn a dress very similar to the navy one he had sent her before the art show, but with a few alterations to make it a little more tasteful. She wasn't about to walk out _totally _naked. Just mostly.

"I need a drink," he commented dryly after giving her a brief one-over, then headed straight toward the bar. Amelia tried to match his long strides, but he wasn't even trying to allow her to keep up. At this rate she might need one herself just to put up with him. Or five.

At the last second, she rushed in front of him and got the bartender's attention. "Hey, I'd like a…" she paused for a moment as James appeared beside her. He looked so content with himself. He wore a snide little grin on his face as he blinked at her infuriatingly, waiting for her to finish ordering her drink. Even the way he _blinked _made her want to chuck something at his head. "On second thought, I'll have two shots of tequila please."

"Aw, how sweet of you to order for me."

"I'll have you know that both of these are for me," she said, knocking one back as soon as the bartender slid it in front of her. The liquid burned down her throat and the only thing that kept her from sputtering was her pride. Her nose burned. She had grown accustomed to the taste of alcohol, but she'd only ever drink something of such a high proof when the occasion called for it. "I wouldn't dare to assume what sort of drinks you like, Mr. Moretti. I don't know everything, contrary to popular belief. Besides, I'm sure a gentleman like you should have no problem picking up the tab."

James opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but held back and ordered his drink. She didn't entirely mind James when he was silent like this, she thought to herself, it was only when he spoke that she wanted to throw things at his head. Of course, that was the last thing she remembered thinking that night before blacking out entirely.

* * *

The sunlight was the first annoying thing about that morning. It hit Amelia's eyes at just the right angle to force her awake, but she wasn't willing to move. The memory foam mattress sucked her deep into its depths and made her never want to move another inch in her entire life. The sheets were soft, warm, and she was perfectly content to stay there.

Then she came to the sudden realization that she wasn't wearing any clothes, annoyance number two. She immediately shot up in bed and whirled around. She had no idea where she was. She'd never been in this room before. In fact, she was pretty sure that she'd never even been to this house before. Her dress was slung over the back of an armchair in the corner, and on the seat was a pair of men's sweat pants and a t-shirt. Her mind raced, her thoughts moving at a mile a minute trying desperately trying to remember things she was probably better off not knowing.

She was half way through hastily pulling the shirt over her head when James walked in, sporting sunglasses and carrying a bottle of water. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. It's about time you put some clothes on."

A mixture of dread and anger boiled in her stomach and if her jaw wasn't already predisposed on the floor she probably would have voiced aloud what her brain was screaming: _no_. No no no no no. Before she knew it she had punched him so hard in the jaw that he dropped everything. "Hey!" he shouted, fighting to grab hold of her hands before she got them around the nearest lamp. "Will you relax?!"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bash your skull in."

"That's an awfully harsh thing to say to the one who carried your drunk, puking ass all the way home last night."

Amelia froze. "You mean… we didn't…?"

"Have sex?" James laughed as he shoved her roughly off of him. "No. I'm an asshole, not a rapist." He reached over and grabbed the bottle, which had rolled under the bed. "Here, I thought you might need this."

Her mouth was dry. She _was _really thirsty. She snatched it from him and sipped cautiously. "So… is this your house?"

James frowned. "Yes," he answered shortly. "It was closest, and you were pretty sick."

After a few more sips of water, Amelia realized her head was pounding. Her face burned. Annoyance number three, she owed James Moretti yet again for doing something decent. That didn't mean she was convinced that he was a good person, just that he was capable of something slightly better than douchebaggery. "Feel like telling me what happened?"

"You puked a lot and took your clothes off. I had your dress dry cleaned while you were sleeping."

She took her clothes off? Well then. That was… not entirely ideal. And she didn't remember any of it.

"Don't be embarrassed, it's only because you were, and I quote, 'sweating like a whore in church.'" When Amelia couldn't help casting a cold glare at his terribly amused expression he shrugged. "You're the one who said it."

She rolled her eyes and looked around for her phone, which James quickly produced from his pocket. "You looking for this?" he asked smugly. He was enjoying this too much. She needed to stop it. He was getting on her last nerve.

She grabbed that, too, out of his hands. "Have anything else of mine, while you're at it?"

"Besides your dignity, no."

"Don't think for one second that you've had any effect on my dignity, Moretti." She checked the time on her phone and her stomach dropped. It was _two thirty. _She was supposed to meet Catwoman for training at _ten_. Her entire body froze for a moment. Catwoman would kill her. Just yesterday afternoon she'd given Amelia a long lecture about dedication. Could anything else go wrong?

"I turned off your alarm," James explained. "Have you really not slept in like, four days?"

Amelia was screwed. She scrambled everything together and called for a cab. She didn't even want to know how James seemed to know so much about her poor sleep schedule. He was right, of course, but that was beside the point. "_That's _none of your business." She made her way out of the bedroom and followed her way down the hall, trying to find the nearest exit.

James tailed her, his expression quickly growing darker. "What's your problem? All I did was try to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Yeah, well that's not what it sounded last night when you gave yourself alcohol poisoning_._"

"I would have been fine without your help."

"No," he insisted, "you would have wound up passed out in the middle of the street surrounded by reporters. It wouldn't kill you to sound at least a little grateful."

Once she got outside, Amelia whirled around to face him. "Why are you trying to make yourself sound like a saint? Because you're not."

"I never said I was!" He groaned and took a long look up at the sky, like he was asking the heavens for divine help. "Listen, are you okay? No one's heard from you since the incident. And with your grandmother and everything—"

"It's been two weeks," she interrupted. "I'm fine."

"Exactly," he stressed, "It's been _two weeks_."

Amelia frowned. "Don't act like you suddenly give a shit, Moretti. I know you better."

"No, I really don't think you do."

"I think I do."

"I think you think you do, but I don't think you do."

Amelia knew she was being ridiculous at this point, but she was too proud to let it go. "How about we agree to disagree, shall we?"

"How about we agree that you've booked a one way ticket on the crazy train and leave it at that?"

"I'm _not _crazy." She sighed and glanced down at her phone. She was surprised Catwoman hadn't called her when she was late. She hadn't made any effort to contact Amelia at all, actually. It was one thing to be thankful for. It was bad enough that James had possession of her phone in the first place, she didn't even want to think about all the questions he'd ask if she'd gotten numerous threatening text messages from a contact named _Cat._

Amelia was in huge trouble. After talks and talks of all the hard work and dedication it would take to merely be mediocre, Amelia missed a lesson. Because she had passed out, drunk, on the other side of town.

She gritted her teeth. She might as well make the most of the situation so that she had _something_ good to say to Catwoman when she had to grovel and beg her to stay. She had to have something to prove she wasn't a completely useless screw up.

"Listen, I have a lot going on right now," she admitted with a grimace. "I know I'm wrong, I just really didn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing you're right, okay? And you didn't have to help me, so that was actually really nice… so thanks, I guess. But don't get used to it."

James' jaw dropped and his eyes went as wide as saucers. "Wow," he choked. "You sound physically pained. Did that hurt? Will you survive?" He looked around dramatically and felt her forehead with the back of her hand. "It doesn't look like the sky is falling. The world isn't ending. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Amelia rolled her eyes and swatted his hand away. "You're not very funny, you know that?"

"I don't think you know what you're talking about. I'm hilarious."

"You know how I supposedly don't know everything? Well, this is one of the things that I actually do, and I'm quite certain I'm correct." Amelia almost died of happiness when the taxi pulled up in the driveway. She probably could have, _should _have, called Charfield. It would be more proper. However, the idea of having him lecture her the entire way home with this hangover wasn't ideal. Plus, she would rather he didn't know about everything regarding this facet of her life. Not only did she not want his judgments, but the last time he found anything out about her dating life he'd given her the most awkward sex talk ever. It was something she wasn't planning on repeating. Besides, the less he knew about her sketchy arrangement with Catwoman the better. "Goodbye, Mr. Moretti."

He watched her go without a word, just with the usual snarky grin on his face. But once she opened the cab door, he shouted quickly at her, his words rushed and jumbled, "I'll see you again, soon?"

For a moment Amelia was floored and stunned into silence. She took a moment to gather herself. "I'm sorry," she called, a sly grin on her face, "I didn't quite catch that. Can you repeat it?"

"You really ought to get your ears checked, that's not healthy."

Amelia sat in the cab and made as if she was about to shut the door. "Goodbye, James."

"Wait!" James took a few steps down the stairs so he didn't have to shout. "Can I see you again?"

Success! There was no way Catwoman could doubt her resolve, especially not _now _that she was about to agree to go out with the last person on Earth she would want to if she had the choice. "I think I'm free on Tuesday evening, I may be able to pencil you in."

She shut the door so she didn't have to see his self-assured smile, but glanced through the back window as they were driving away to see him practically strut back into the house and pump the air with his fist, already on the telephone. Probably bragging to his friends about how he was about to nail the Ice Queen.

What he didn't know was that she was using him just as much as he _thought _he would be using her.

Two could play at that game.

* * *

"You know the only reason I'm here right now is because you somehow managed to get an in with the Moretti's, right?" Catwoman paced back and forth angrily like a caged animal. She'd been talking to herself for a while now, and only half of it made sense.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Really? It flew over my head the first two times you said it, but I think it's really starting to sink in now. So you're saying it's not just because of my good looks?"

Catwoman ignored her and continued on to finish the rant Amelia had already heard numerous times already. "I've been _trying _to do that for months now and somehow _you _manage to do it without even trying. And the joke is that it was only luck, really, because for some god forsaken reason that boy likes you. You didn't even have to try."

"How can you say I never tried? How do you know?"

"I was _watching _you, you idiot. I needed to know if I could trust you." Catwoman pinched the bridge of her nose. Amelia could hear her slowly counting to ten under her breath. "You were blackout within twenty minutes. Please, tell me how that's 'trying'. Maybe it's just something someone of my tax bracket couldn't understand."

"Twenty minutes? That must be a new record."

"This isn't _funny_, Amelia." Catwoman stared somewhere over Amelia's shoulder for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't think this is going to work out, you and me. I had figured you might be off for a little while, scared, but this is different. You don't have what it takes."

Amelia could understand Catwoman being angry because of her work ethic but _this _was going a little too far. "What do you mean 'don't have what it takes'? You're the one who said I was a survivor. You're the one who _said _I could do it. You're the one who _offered_."

"Yeah," Catwoman snapped, "I messed up. I didn't realize you were a spoiled little coward."

Amelia, who had taken a seat against the far wall when Catwoman had started her rant roughly forty minutes ago, immediately shot up. She stood chest-to-chest with the older woman and towered over her. A voice deep in her head was telling Amelia to back down, but it was quickly suppressed by overwhelming anger. "Let's get something straight, okay?" she hissed in a low voice, "I might be scared right now, I might be a little 'off', but I am _not_ a coward."

"You can't even live in your own house and you spend half your waking moments drunk because you're afraid of talking to people sober," Catwoman hissed. "Please, enlighten me as to how that isn't in any way cowardly. You say you don't want to run anymore, Amelia, but that's all you ever do. You're a runner. I thought that if I gave you an opportunity to do something besides run that it would help you, but it obviously didn't. The first thing you did was run straight to the bar. Enlighten me as to how you plan on following through with this arrangement if you're afraid to talk to people without blacking out first."

"I got James Moretti!" Amelia shouted, closing the space between her and her teacher.

"No, you got lucky!"

Catwoman shoved Amelia aside and got halfway to the door. Amelia's chest tightened. Her hands shook. Her stomach dropped with every step Catwoman took away from her until she felt nauseous. "No!" she yelped. She crossed her arms over her chest and groaned. "I'll move back into the manor. I'll stop drinking, totally. Hell, I'll even go out and make some friends. Just please don't go."

Catwoman paused. "Are you willing to do things my way this time? No questions?"

"Minimal questions."

"Will you trust me?"

"Actually I have one question first."

Amelia received a doubtful raise of the eyebrows. "What?"

"You all wear masks to keep the people you love safe. If I do things your way, am I going to be putting my friends in danger? Is Moretti going to go after my friends?"

"Yes. No. Well, it depends what you want to do in the future. As for Moretti, that's just kid's play. He'll never find anything out. If you ever want more, well, you might be needing a mask of your own, kid."

The thought made Amelia ill. "I don't want that."

"Don't count it out. The feeling you can get sometimes, the thrill, it's addicting. You never know. It only takes a little push."

The last thing Amelia could ever imagine herself doing was running around Gotham in a little mask and dumb outfit trying to save people that didn't deserve to be saved. She gave Dick credit for doing what he did, because it had to be hard as hell, but she would never do what he did. She didn't believe in it. Masks gave people the courage to do things they normally wouldn't do, good or bad. For every Dick Grayson there was a Charles VanAlstyne. "Don't count on it. I'm no hero."

"Who said anything about being a hero? They're not the only guys running around in masks, sweetheart."

"What, you want me to be like you? Let me put this into perspective, _sweetheart_,the list of reasons for a billionaire to become a burglar is so short it's nonexistent. I don't steal things I want, I buy them. So quit trying to talk me into doing things I have no interest in doing and teach me already, okay? One day of missed training is enough."

Actually, one day of missed training did miracles for Amelia's sore muscles and had halfway convinced her to never start working out again, but she didn't want to let that lazy thinking sink in. If she could somehow forget how good it felt to not be sore, she would stop dreading her sometimes twice-daily walks to the gym for her ritual ass-kickings.

"Hold on, what's your issue with masks? They help everyone we love safe. What's so wrong about that? Don't you want to keep everyone you love safe?"

Amelia suddenly realized that Catwoman's fingertips rested on the doorknob. She hadn't even noticed. She'd been too caught up in the words she was saying to see that she had kept walking. "I don't know, forget I asked. Can we go, please?"

"No. Answer the question."

"Why do you care?"

"I can't trust you if I don't know what you're thinking."

She shrugged. "I don't know. They're ugly and theatrical."

"Don't lie to me, little girl," Catwoman snarled. "What do you think I am, stupid? Either you answer the question or I leave."

"I don't know what kind of person I'd be, if I could do things without consequences. My family doesn't exactly have a great track record for outstanding moral fiber, if you hadn't noticed. We're all kind of assholes. "

"Well, that's it, then," Catwoman decided. "There's nothing I can teach you."

"What? Why?"

"How do you expect me to trust you, when you can't even trust yourself?"

* * *

Amelia hadn't heard from Catwoman in months, and that wasn't for lack of trying. She'd called plenty of times, but the number no longer worked. It hadn't taken Amelia very long to give up on her teacher, but that didn't stop her desire to learn. Instead, she'd hired a few personal trainers and stuck to a strict schedule. She hadn't been lying when she'd promised to be more diligent. She'd completely changed her lifestyle, from the time she woke up to the things she ate.

She could understand the appeal that Catwoman had been talking about. Ever since she'd first started seeing results, she'd felt more comfortable and confident than she ever had in her entire life. She'd even moved back into the manor. She could do more and more every day. In the back of her mind there was always the lingering thought that she'd be able to do much more if Catwoman had been the one to teach her, but since that wasn't an option she had to go with what was second best—teaching herself. And it was going pretty damn well so far.

Her phone chimed, telling her she'd received a new e-mail. It was probably from James, she'd answer it later. She didn't know why she still kept him around; she didn't get much out of keeping in contact with him. It was the fact that Catwoman found the family so worth looking into that kept her there, she figured. If playing nice with James and doing a little business with his father was what she needed to do in order to hunt down Catwoman, then she would suck it up and do it. Besides, she was curious. Maybe she'd do a little digging herself once the opportunity arose.

After all, there were much worse people Amelia could have to deal with than James Moretti.

"_Come to a party tonight? My sister is going to finally admit that she's knocked up and if I have to explain to my aunts why I'm single one more time I'll kill everyone. So you're obligated really. Think of it as a public service. And I may be able to get you that address you wanted. -J_"

Much worse.

"_Send me the address and I'll consider it,_" she replied, "_And for the record, if you were trying to ask me out, mass murder wasn't the way to go._"

"Amelia, can we talk?" Charfield asked as he came into the office without knocking, which was unusual for him. "Why are you smiling?"

"What?" she shoved the phone into her pocket. "Oh, nothing. What's up?" He seemed more on edge than usual. Though, to be honest, Charfield had a stick up his ass. Folding napkins wrong was a good way to put him on edge. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was messy like he'd repeatedly run his fingers through it in a nervous frenzy.

"Well," he started, staring at the dark wood of Amelia's desk with a frown. He tapped the cover of a black leather book he held between his fingers. After a bit of deliberation, he threw it down onto the desktop. "I've been working the past few weeks, and I couldn't help but notice a few things. Did you know that VanAlstyne Shipping provides complete services not only to Moretti, but the rest of the mob as well? And that since we've started doing business with them, large containers of weapons and tech have periodically vanished?"

Amelia swallowed. Yes, she had known that. Once she'd gained access to the key to get into those books, she'd spent days uncovering all of Charles' dirty business. She'd only allowed Charfield access to about half of it. The other half was best not seen. "My grandfather wasn't a very good man. You know that. Why are you bringing this up?"

"Another container went missing last week."

"I know," she informed. "It contained teddy bears we were donating to hurricane victims. Rest assured, they have been replaced. The children will get their teddy bears. I don't see what the big deal is."

His face fell. "Teddy bears made by a German weapons manufacturing company?" he insisted.

Amelia sighed. She was really hoping he wouldn't press matters. "My grandfather may not have been a good man, but he was good at business. He was right about one thing, impartiality. We don't question what they do and they give us business. More than business, actually. We scratch their backs and they scratch ours, so to speak."

"I wouldn't call VanAlstyne Corp personally funding the mob 'impartial'." He bit his lip and hesitated, but then continued, "So you're defending him? What he's done?"

"No," Amelia snapped. "There's more to it than just that, it's more complicated than you think. And don't you _dare _think that you're going to intimidate me into changing the entire way this company is run based on your uninformed opinions. You're an idealist in times where being so will quickly put you under. Look at Wayne Enterprises. They haven't tanked yet, but they're headed there. I don't know much, but even I know that."

"Amazing," Charfield choked. "You sound just like him."

Amelia stood up from her chair and tried to keep herself from jumping over the desk and punching him. It was well-deserved and would certainly shut him up. "You can leave, Mr. McKnight."

"I will in a second," he stated. He seemed so calm. He'd probably rehearsed this conversation a million times over in the mirror in order to appear so. It was only his shaking hands that hinted otherwise. "I'm concerned about you. Everyone thinks you're better because you stopped going out and drinking, but I don't see it. Since when are you friends with Moretti? You've always hated him. Now this? Do you know how many times Dick has called for you in the past few weeks? At least a dozen. I don't like the kid, but he's been a good friend to you and he's concerned. So am I. You're getting in deep with the wrong people."

"I really don't appreciate your condescending attitude," she said, her voice remaining eerily pleasant. Her urge to jump over the desk and pummel him hadn't lessened. "I'm not an idiot and I'm not a child. I can take care of myself. I know what I'm doing. And for the record, my personal relationships are none of your concern." She could only imagine how he would react to finding out that she used to spend her time bonding with a notorious cat burglar. Have her admitted to an asylum, probably. She'd end up in the cell right next to her grandfather's. The thought gave her chills.

For a moment he looked at her in disbelief. "You're ridiculous. You're turning into him."

All discretion gone out the window, Amelia grabbed the nearest object to her, the book he had thrown on the table, and chucked it hard. Aimed directly at his head. "Get out!" she shrieked. Her heart raced, her hands shook, and for a moment nothing happened. A tense silence hung in the air. He looked both sad and angry, but she wouldn't take his pity. She didn't want it. "I am finally happy for the first time in a long time, and I'm not going to let you ruin it. I'm not going to go back to being miserable just so you can sleep well at night."

Charfield nodded. "This is goodbye, then."

He didn't mean for the night, or even temporarily. It wasn't goodbye like when he left for college, when she knew she'd see him again once he graduated. It was goodbye for good. Forever. He didn't give her the opportunity to say something before he turned around and left, shutting the office door behind him.

Amelia fell back into her chair, stunned and numb, trying to piece everything together that had just happened. Charfield was gone. She was apparently becoming exactly like the man she despised more than anything in the world. She dry heaved into the trashcan.

She felt her mood quickly spiraling downward. She had tried so hard to be happy, but look what it had gotten her. What an idiot, to think that she could get what she wanted and actually enjoy it. Her fingers itched to get their hands on a bottle, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd worked too hard. What she really wanted was something to hide behind, something to help her disappear.

_No_, she decided. She wasn't going to let herself fall apart. She was a good person. She deserved to be happy. She wasn't like her grandfather at all. She had never hurt anybody who hadn't meant her harm first. She checked her phone to make sure James had e-mailed her back the address she had requested, which he had, and rushed out the door.

This trip into Gotham wasn't like the last one she had taken. She wasn't afraid of the people around her, even though it was getting dark. It helped that she had brought a knife along with her this time, which she kept in her front pocket for easy access.

She wasn't as shocked as she should have been when the GPS on her phone brought her to the red-light district. She received a few glares, but nothing she couldn't handle. She knocked on the door, and a short blonde girl answered. She only opened the door a crack, and peered through the opening. "What do you want?"

"I need to see Selina Kyle."

"Never heard of her," the girl said and began to shut the door, but Amelia stuck her foot in and forced it open.

"Listen, kid, I know she lives here. I'll also have you know that I play golf down at the country club every Sunday with both the chief of police and the DA, so if I were to call 911 the police would be real quick to get down here."

The girl gave Amelia a long, hard look before slowly opening the door and letting her up the stairs into the apartment. It was dimly lit and nice enough, with a large safe in the corner which more than likely contained everything Catwoman had managed to get her hands on and hadn't had the opportunity yet to sell.

As she was distracted, she heard a soft rustling and felt a small tug in her pocket. She quickly reached down to snatch the blonde by the wrist, who held Amelia's wallet in her hand. Amelia took the wallet back and held the girl's wrist a little longer than necessary to get her point across.

"Amelia? What are you doing here? _How _are you here?"

Amelia turned to see Catwoman, or Selina, standing in the doorway. She was furious. Amelia took a deep breath. "No one else knows if that's what you're worried about. No one's going to figure it out. I needed to talk to you."

She was still suspicious. She motioned for her blonde friend to leave. "If you came to talk, let's talk."

Amelia nodded. "Right," she began, "well, I'm in. For the whole thing. I need the mask. I figured you would be the one to go to. And for the record, I'm not asking for permission, I'm asking for help."

"Why the change in heart?"

Why not? Amelia was tired of everyone thinking she was fragile. The fragile girl was ready to disappear. "I've got nothing to hold me back. Go big or go home, right?"

Selina considered it for a while, then smiled. "I thought you might come around, kid. Go home and get some rest, you'll need it in the morning."

A weight lifted from Amelia's chest. "What did you have in mind?"

Selina's smile turned into a sly grin. "I can think of a few ways we can make some very powerful people very angry. You up for the job?"

"What's in it for me?"

Catwoman laughed. "Good answer."

* * *

A/N: Finally! I was almost done with this, and then finals happened and everything went downhill from there. College is stupid. I also figured out how to use the document editor. It took me long enough!


	11. Part 2, Chapter 5

TWO YEARS LATER:

Amelia couldn't help but roll her eyes at James' borderline ape-like behavior. His arm snaked tightly around her waist as he stared down all passersby a little longer than necessary, that haughty grin of his ever present on his smug face. "Honestly, the way you behave sometimes, it's more reminiscent of a dog pissing on a fire hydrant than a gentleman in polite society."

After a great deal of convincing and not-so-subtle threats, she had finally persuaded him to attend the annual charity ball meant to raise funds for the Justice League in Washington, DC. Given his parentage, James wasn't too thrilled about the event. Amelia herself wasn't extremely pleased to be there. She was reasonably sure the only reason she received the invitation in the first place was because the ball marked Dick's yearly attempt at getting her to resist the dark side… or something like that. It was an event that had quickly lost its real meaning and had instead become an opportunity for the wealthy to show off and brag to one another.

James simply shrugged, not bothered by the comparison as they swayed to the music. "Am I a cute dog?"

Amelia shook her head. "Absolutely mangy, but the focus of my argument was that I'm the fire hydrant in this situation."

"That's wrong. Red's not your color."

"Every color is my color," she remarked, squeezing his collarbone with a bit more force than was probably warranted. He winced. "What you fail to recognize, Mr. Moretti, is that fire hydrants are _inanimate_."

"Well then the premise of your argument is flawed, because I can say with certainty that I've never seen you _inanimate _in my life."

"Let me explain this to you really simply so that you understand. That's just Ollie," Amelia motioned toward the man who had just said hello in passing. "I've known him since I was born. It's not like he's an undercover cop or anything. You need to calm down."

"I am calm." He scoffed and stared longingly over her shoulder at the bar.

"You never look at me like you look at brandy."

"That's because brandy and I, see, we've been friends since I was born. You just don't understand our deep, profound relationship."

"So what you're saying is that you were born an alcoholic asshat?"

"Always with the insults. It hurts, it really does." James laughed and let out a noise that was half sigh, half groan. He really didn't want to be there. He had spent almost an hour fussing over getting his tie absolutely perfect, and had remained unconvinced that there was nothing wrong with it until Amelia had taken a photograph of the damned thing and sent it to his mother for approval. "Then again, I must have pretty thick skin considering how much I've put up with you."

"A martyr if I ever knew one. I'm humbled merely by your presence."

"As you should be."

There were no clocks in this room. Amelia frowned. "What time is it?"

James glanced at his wrist. "Nine thirty."

_Soon. _She took a deep breath. "I need to get to my phone."

"You mean this?" James asked, producing Amelia's cellphone from somewhere within his suit. "I thought you might need it."

"You're perfect." Amelia snatched it, keeping it sandwiched between their bodies so no one could see. The dance floor was dimly lit, and they were in the corner. No one had been paying any attention to them. She received a text message from a random number. It only contained one word. '_Go._'

James had just enough time to return the phone to his pocket before someone tapped on his shoulder. Amelia's pulse skyrocketed and she could feel the butterflies in her stomach, even though she knew that there was no reason to be nervous. She peered over James' shoulder. Her heart sank.

Dick offered James a warm smile, even though Amelia knew him well enough to know he didn't mean a bit of it. Like Bruce, he was a good actor. She doubted James even realized. "May I?"

James gave Amelia glance, then shrugged. "Careful, she bites."

Puberty had done a lot to change Dick; she barely recognized him every time she saw him. Without a doubt, he always looked less like the little nerdy boy she had befriended in high school and more like his brooding mentor. Before, he had been just about her height. He was now nearly a head taller than her. She had been skeptical that he was capable of the feats of strength and skill that he had shown when he was younger, but now she didn't doubt it, not for a second. She couldn't even get her hand around his bicep.

His appearance this year had surprised her much less than usual, probably because she had seen him just a few weeks prior. _He_ didn't know he'd seen her, of course. She'd just started interrogating her new toy, an escapee from Belle Reve, when the Boy Wonder and his friends had burst in. They'd easily captured the guy, and she'd just barely escaped. She'd been wearing her mask, so there was no way he could have known it was her. It didn't make her feel any easier.

"Why so nervous?" Dick laughed and guided her more toward the center of the room, where it was better lit. He really was a much better dancer than James, she had to admit. He spun her around the dance floor with practiced ease. Considering his size, he was surprisingly light on his feet.

"I don't get nervous, you must be confusing me with someone else." Her surroundings suddenly became fascinating, anything to avoid looking at his face and into his judging eyes. It was a nice ballroom, she decided. Lots of marble, gold and chandeliers.

"Good. I was beginning to think you were feeling guilty."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Guilty? About what?"

"About not returning any of my calls, texts, or e-mails. Even letters, for that matter. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to need to buy a plane and write a letter in the sky just to catch your attention."

"I think you'll find that desperation isn't an attractive quality for a young gentleman such as yourself. Besides, I thought that was what this was for? You tell me all about the bad life choices I'm making, and I tell you, lovingly and with all due respect, to kindly fuck off."

The smile vanished. "The Morettis are not people you want to get involved with, Amelia. You're not safe with them."

Amelia rolled her eyes. She'd heard that plenty of times, many of them from Dick himself. "Well then, that's my own problem. Because you've stopped 'keeping an eye on' me, right?" He didn't answer, so she repeated, "Right?"

"Luther isn't someone you want to be involved with, either," he countered, ignoring her completely but still inadvertently answering her question. She wasn't really surprised. "He's dangerous, like _really _dangerous. He makes the Morettis look harmless. He'll actually kill you."

_He doesn't know, _she told herself, _he can't know. It's impossible. _

"My business with LexCorp is none of your concern." Amelia plastered a pleasant smile on her face, continuing with a sense of assurance she didn't actually feel. "Besides, you say that like I'm not used to people shooting at me. Contrary to what the tabloids would have you think, I'm not actually some fragile damsel. But you know that. So, what? You think I don't know what I'm doing? That I'm dumb?"

Dick's jaw clenched. His jaw had grown broader with age. Was that stubble on his cheek? "No. I think you're very brave, too brave. That's the problem—you shouldn't _have _to be used to people shooting at you. You deserve better than that."

"You're making it sound like I have no sense of self-worth. I'll have you know I'm just as arrogant as I've always been and I really don't appreciate your self-righteous attitude. You see, there's this little part deep inside of you that thinks you know what's good for me better than I do. Well, you can take that little part of you and shove it up your pompous—"

Something deep within Dick's suit started vibrating. He somehow managed to produce a phone out of _somewhere _and answered it. A frown instantly became etched into his features, and his brows only formed a deeper V as the conversation proceeded. After a few "yes" or "no" answers, he hung up. "This isn't over," he informed her, "but I have to go once this song is over."

It was Amelia's turn to frown. "Why, what happened?"

"I don't know a whole lot yet, but you'll probably see it on the news tomorrow morning."

"Is it bad?"

He nodded.

"Really bad?"

Again, he nodded. He looked around, but no one was paying attention to them. Most of the people present were extremely drunk already and only focused on themselves. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear in a low voice, "Stay here in DC tonight. Don't go back to Gotham just yet, it isn't safe." Chills ran down her spine.

The song ended so they were finally able to stop dancing. Dick rushed off, and Amelia searched the crowed to find James among a group of older women who probably all found him extremely charming. They, however, didn't notice how jumpy he was and how he was constantly looking around like a paranoid freak. It wasn't totally unwarranted, as she knew more than a few people in the room who would like to have his father's head on a platter, but it was still obvious enough to make _her _uncomfortable. She grabbed his hand and led him through an ornately decorated arched doorway to the bar so that he could finally get _something _in him to calm him down and turn him into at least a semi-functioning human being. She ordered him a drink and got herself a glass of red wine. They had her favorite kind. Or, at least, it used to be her favorite kind. She handed James his glass. "Drink this."

He made a face. "It's like you're trying to get me drunk." He eyed her glass in confusion, as he knew very well that she hadn't drunk in years.

"Not drunk, just tolerable." Amelia made as if to drink the wine, but then spilled it all the way down the front of her gown. Her white gown. "Oops."

"Shit!" James glanced around. He didn't know what she was up to; she hadn't told him. He frowned. "Are you alright? Do you want anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "Stay here, I'll go up to the bathroom and call Felix. I'll get this sorted out." She looked down at her gown with a grimace. She really did like it. "Damn."

She quickly made a servant to show her a back way to the bathroom so that she wouldn't have to walk all the way through the party with an obvious red stain over the front of her dress. Amelia thanked her, made polite conversation, and promptly locked herself inside.

She checked the time. Everything was on schedule.

There was a knock at the door. That would be Felix, arriving just as she had told him to. Felix McKnight, Charfield's father, had insisted on taking over his son's job when he had left, for reasons that Amelia didn't quite understand. Felix had never liked her. She'd almost declined his offer, but he wasn't the sort to ask questions or stick his nose in her business. She needed someone like that. He was dressed in a nice suit and carried a garment bag along with him.

Amelia glanced up and down along the hallway. They were the only ones there. She took the bag from him. "Thank you. I'll see you later."

He nodded, and in a typical Felix fashion, left without a word.

She dressed into the suit it contained, and shrugged on her trench coat. She swallowed her emotions and forced herself to be calm.

Which, of course, all blew up in her face when her phone started vibrating against the marble countertop and clattered onto the floor. She took a moment to compose herself. "Hello?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lex's angry voice growled from the other end.

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked innocently.

"Why did you just have my men completely destroy Arkham?"

"Destroy is such a harsh word, I like to think of it as redecorating."

"You blew down an entire back wall, freeing only God knows how many dangerous prisoners. Not all of them are on my side, you know."

She tsked. "Always so angry," she chided, "when will you ever learn to trust me?" She had to admit that she was being half-way serious. None of the men in her life believed that she knew what the hell she was doing. Then again, she didn't have a problem letting them believe it. Their believing in her ineptitude made it easier to manipulate them.

"That's hard when you don't tell me what you're doing." He had a point. He _had _told her to call him and let him know what she was up to. She just didn't think he really needed to know. "I don't believe in risk. Don't make me regret giving you this authority."

"You won't," she said, applying a fresh coat of red lipstick. "This isn't a risk, Lex, it's a done deal. Let me do my job and you won't be disappointed. Just take your little robo-bodyguard, shut yourself into that little fortress you call a house, and wait for the good guys to sweep in and save the day. Okay, sweetheart?"

"You have two hours before I send someone after you."

"I'll only need forty-five minutes."

"As I said," he threatened, "you have two hours."

The phone clicked.

That was Lex, always so grumpy. She had Catwoman to thank for her shenanigans with him. It was amazing how distrusting he was, even after over a year of impeccable service. Then again, it was probably warranted considering the fact that he had no idea who she was. She had only met with him in person a handful of times, and when she did, she wore a mask. The only way he knew to contact her was through her work phone, which she kept on her at all times. He wasn't a fool, just paranoid. He didn't like to leave loose ends.

It took Amelia only a few minutes to sneak out the window, avoiding the cameras, and make her way down to the infamous Hall of Justice. And people say she was gaudy, the amount of gold used on the fountain alone was ridiculous. She couldn't help but wonder if all the money raised from the fundraisers went toward helping people or toward pimping out the Justice League clubhouse. As she approached she turned up the collar of her coat to hide her face from the street cameras. She fidgeted with her flesh-colored gloves, pulling them up until the rubber put uncomfortable pressure on the webbing of her fingers.

She wouldn't say it was exactly common knowledge that Justice League headquarters wasn't _actually _within the Hall of Justice, but it could be pretty easily deduced by anyone with more than a sixth-grade education and any sort of common sense. There were only two armed guards. Given, you would have to be pretty stupid to break into one place crawling with people practically bred to put villains behind bars. That was, if there wasn't a shortage of them and if they weren't all presently preoccupied putting the dozens of dangerous criminals she'd just freed from Arkham back in their cells.

"Hey guys!" she greeted, approaching the guards with a friendly smile. "I'm a grad student who's been doing research on the League for my thesis, and it turns out that I've left my laptop charger in the library. I know it's late, but could you just let me in for like five minutes so I can pick it up?" She reached into her coat and showed the fake badge she'd acquired. "See?"

The one guard looked skeptical. It made sense considering that the idea that the League would let civilians into their library was ludicrous. He took her badge and inspected it. "Well, Mary Smith," he read, "I'm going to have to call this in. If you could please wait here a moment."

"Are you _kidding _me?" she groaned. "Listen, do you know the amount of shit I've had to go just to get clearance for this place? Hint: it took months. Excuse me if I'm a little short, but I've been living off of coffee for the past three weeks and I can count the amount of hours I've had to sleep on one hand. It'll only take five minutes, can you please just let me in so I can go to bed?"

The other guard gave her a warning look. "Listen, ma'am, we'll do this as fast as possible. You're just going to have to calm down and wait."

The first guard was just about to dial in the call. These guys weren't as dumb as she'd hoped.

With a swift hit to the neck she knocked out the guard closest to her, and she got the other one as he was scrambling to put the phone down and take out his gun. "I'm sorry, boys," she cooed to their unconscious bodies as she stole their guns and fished her badge out from the one's coat pocket, "but you really ought to learn not to keep a lady waiting."

After a brief moment of internal deliberation, Amelia pulled her mask out from a pocket inside her coat and put it on. She really hated the thing. It was uncomfortable and she couldn't see out of her periphery. She adjusted it with a sigh. It felt like putting on a pair of glasses she wasn't used to wearing. At first she'd had to wear it around her bedroom at night in order to limit the amount of fuss that wearing it usually involved. With one final adjustment, she stepped inside.

The building was dark, but as she entered further the motion-censored lights were activated. This caused a ripple effect, turning on all the lights on either side of the circular atrium in a cascading manner. The statues of League members were overwhelming in size, completely towering over her. Even if there was nobody home, this sight would probably be intimidating enough to send her packing if she hadn't been planning this for months. The beauty of the building was absolutely awe-inspiring.

What a pathetically expensive front. Other people obviously thought differently, but if Amelia was going to donate millions of dollars and put her faith in costumed thugs, she'd be pretty pissed walking in here to see that they'd allowed giant statues of themselves to be built instead of putting it to good use. Was all the marble necessary? What was wrong with concrete and tile? It was one of the many reasons she'd never donated a single cent at their little charity ball, no matter how many times she'd been invited.

As she made her way across the observation deck to the entrance of the library, her footsteps echoed so loudly in the large hall that she couldn't help but cringe. Her only saving grace was that the place was totally empty. Otherwise she'd be a sitting duck. The thought still made her uneasy, so she decided to get this done as soon as possible and not revel in the moment.

The large metal doors had words "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" painted on them in bright yellow paint. That was a joke.

She held her card over the scanner in the door and put her gloved hand onto the finger-print reader. It took a moment, but eventually the red lights turned green. There was a click, and the doors slid open.

She had to admit that she was jealous of the extensive library and computer system it contained, and given the opportunity she'd love to spend all day here reading about boring, secret Justice League things. She stopped for a second to admire the full shelves, wishing that she'd had more time to waste. She couldn't imagine what sort of books they even contained, what sort of information was buried here.

After taking a moment to gather herself, she walked to the far side of the room. She held her badge bar code side out in front of her face, just like she'd been told, and waited.

A ceiling tile slid to the side and a small computer swung down abruptly, making Amelia jump. She held her breath. If this didn't work, she'd pummel everyone responsible. The computer started to scan her body, but it stopped after it scanned the badge. The light turned off. Somewhere in the ceiling, the computer hummed as it tried to stop the virus that had just been introduced to its system.

She had just about given up hope when an automated female voice declared, "Recognized, Nightwing."

* * *

A/N:

Confession: I've been dying to get up to this part since I started, since this is actually where I first imagined "beginning" the story. It also means that I've been holding onto it for a pathetically long time because I'm anal. I just wanted to warn you that I'm going to start playing around with the point of view next chapter. So, chapter 6 will be centered around Dick. I'm going to try transitioning into using more characters since I'm pretty sure I'm going to need to do that in the third and final part of the story. For now that will mean an occasional chapter or two from Dick's point of view.

Also, I'd like to send out a brief thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review up to this point! I really appreciate it, you guys are great!


	12. Part 2, Chapter 6

Murphy's law states that everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Tonight that was proving to be true. Dick's communicator had been ringing so often that he'd had to silence it in order to avoid unwanted attention from the elderly couple he had been stuck walking behind on his way to board his flight back to Gotham. The software was having difficulties keeping up with the constant stream of messages he was receiving, often freezing while he was in the middle of responding to one as two more came in. It certainly said something, considering that he had designed the piece of equipment himself specifically so that wouldn't happen.

He forced himself to keep walking at a normal pace, a feat of extraordinary self-restraint. Fires were breaking out all over Gotham. Shop owners were being robbed blind both by the escaped inmates and by thugs trying to take advantage of the bad situation. Civilians were being killed. The term "crisis" didn't really cover it. The team was right in the middle of it. He was a little over an hour away.

_Calm down. What can go wrong in just an hour?_

Bad idea. Dozens of scenarios popped into his head instantly. He really ought to not underestimate his own ability to expect the worst.

He had been ten seconds away from shutting the plane door and flying off to Gotham in an attempt to help restore at least some semblance of order when he had glanced down at the communicator one last time. Tim was trying to get in touch with him. He hadn't heard from Tim all night, and something told him that the call could only bring more bad news.

He motioned for the pilot to stop preparing for departure with a raise of the hand as he pointed to his phone. "Hello?" he answered.

"Don't freak out, but we kind of have a situation." Tim sounded breathless.

"Yeah, I kinda got that part."

"So you got the notifications from the security system at HQ?"

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't. It was probably one of the many messages he hadn't gotten the opportunity to respond to yet. "No, but it's probably nothing. I'll put someone local on it on the flight back home."

"That's the situation. You're the only one in the D.C. area right now. We're all in Gotham doing damage control."

_Duh. _Dick was the one who made the order moving everyone to Gotham. He'd completely forgotten. He appreciated Tim's choice to not rub it in his face like he could have done. He'd been stretched thin lately, really thin. He toed the ground with a grimace. He didn't like the idea of leaving them without backup for that long, especially for something that was probably just a stray cat finding its way into the building. Gotham was a war zone. It was dangerous; people were dying. The last thing he wanted was for someone on the team to be one of the casualties.

But still, there was only one right answer.

"I'll go check it out. Good luck."

"You too."

He explained to the pilot very politely that he would need to delay the flight for a little while, as he needed to go on an impromptu shopping trip to buy a present for his girlfriend. The pilot obliged, not that he had the choice. Between both Dick and Bruce, he was probably used to stranger demands than this one.

The ride through Washington, D.C. down to the Hall of Justice was relatively fast, especially on motorcycle. Since it was late at night, the streets weren't too crowded. When they were, he would just go up onto the sidewalk and make the occasional swerve to avoid a drunken patron or two.

Still, it felt like it took forever. Every second he wasted taking care of this stupid situation was one he could be using to help someone in _real _danger. His hair, which had previously been coiffed to perfection, blew up in all sorts of angles. Under ordinary circumstances he would have stopped to fix it once he arrived, but there wasn't a whole lot of time to stop to pretty himself up for the security cameras.

The first thing Dick noticed were the security guards slumped up against the doors. It was pretty obvious, even from far away with the limited lighting, that they were unconscious. He bounded up the steps two at a time and checked their vitals. They were fine, which was good, but it also suggested that the security breach was real and most definitely not caused by some stray animal.

This night was just getting better and better. He was so screwed.

_Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. _Ain't that the truth.

Dick called in an ambulance to take care of the guards as he stepped quietly inside of the building, typing furiously on the holographic computer on his wrist in an attempt to override the motion-sensored lights and keep himself hidden in darkness.

So, naturally, the lights popped on as soon as his foot hit the floor.

Someone had hacked the motion sensors.

_What the hell?_

There were many things Dick wasn't good at. Computers were not one of them. The fact that nothing he did actually worked was unsettling. It meant that whoever broke in wasn't after memorabilia. They knew what they were doing.

He hated it when they knew what they were doing.

The sound of light, quick footsteps to his far right alerted him to someone's presence too late, as a woman's form rushed out of the shadows. Had she been the threat she definitely would have gotten the jump on him, a thought that resonated uncomfortably in the back of his head. He should have taken less time trying to soothe his bruised ego.

She came more into the light, and Dick was finally able to make out her features. An easy task, really, as he recognized her almost immediately. Amelia.

What was she doing here?

He watched her in shock for a moment as he inspected her appearance. She was bundled up in her coat and looked decently put-together except for the eye makeup smeared down her face and red, puffy eyes. She wasn't physically harmed, at least, something that made him breathe a small sigh of relief.

If there was one thing he knew about Amelia VanAlstyne, it was that she was a stubborn ass who could endure a kidnapping and hostage situation without batting an eyelash. Granted, he had countless reasons to question her mental stability, but even then he had trouble wrapping his thoughts around what on Earth could have possibly made her cry.

For once, there was no sass or witty remarks about spandex. She stood there and stared at him with wide, glossy eyes. Her hands were shaking.

God, he _really _didn't have time for this. He was going to take down this audacious creep so fast he wouldn't have time to apologize and beg for forgiveness. And then he was going to find out how he hacked the system. And then he was going to make him _forget _how he hacked the system. And then he was going to give him a good punch or two for good measure. And after this whole ordeal was over, he was going to stay up late making sure that none of this ever happened again.

That was, if Bruce didn't hand his ass to him first on a silver platter.

He couldn't really think of anything to say. She looked fine and he really needed to find the intruder, but he hated to see her cry. He cleared his throat. "Everything's okay, uh… ma'am. I'm here to help."

For at least a few seconds there was no response. Her eyes skated over his face. Her lower lip started quivering. Then, she burst into full-on tears as she rushed over and threw her arms tightly around him. He stumbled backwards, but quickly righted himself and patted the top of her hair, not really sure what to do.

"Why does this always happen to _me_?" she sniffed. "He had a gun. I just wanted some air, and he came up—_Jesus_, Dick, don't you ever call me ma'am again." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, spreading the makeup all the way up her temple into her hairline.

He had to admit that the exchange was much more pleasant than her usual threats or messages to fuck off, though he would really rather that she didn't have to be threatened at gunpoint in order to not be totally hostile.

"You're okay," he reassured, holding her at an arm's length. "Now, I need you to tell me what direction he went in. This is extremely important."

"You guys really take your memorabilia and information pamphlets seriously, don't you?"

"Amelia…"

"Fine," she pointed behind her to the right, down a dark hallway toward the back door. "That way. But are you sure you want to go down there? Can't you just call the police?"

He was already headed in that direction.

"Is that at least bullet proof?" she called, making him wince and really hoping that she would stop being so loud. Her concern was endearing, yes, but it would only cause problems.

He rounded one corner after another. How far could he have gone?

There was an engine roar toward the front of the building. He stopped dead in his tracks. Could this mysterious man have run around the entire building in the time it took him to get the information out of Amelia? Impossible.

Mind reeling, he sprinted down the hallway to the front doors of the Hall of Justice just in time to see a masked woman in a tight, black suit roll back around _on his own motorcycle. _In a stunned silence, he patted the pocket where he usually put his keys. Surely enough, it was empty. His senses came to him just soon enough for his jaw to drop as he realized how hard he'd been played when the woman blew him a kiss goodbye, wearing an unmistakable shade of dark red lipstick.

* * *

There was no doubt that someone had to have put Amelia up to this. There was no way she was capable of breaking into the single most protected headquarters in the world on her own. She could barely operate her smart phone. The level of ability required in order to break into the Watchtower? Dick was still having difficulties wrapping his head around it. _He _wasn't even capable of that.

But why? Who? She'd completely vanished by the time he'd recovered his motorcycle, so there was no way he could talk to her. She'd left it in some back alley. He'd found it just in time to stop a couple locals from trying to steal the tires. Apparently she'd been spotted at the party just minutes after he'd seen her, but jumped on a flight home soon after due to a "headache".

She was a real headache, all right.

Everything about the whole situation was mind-boggling. Yes, Amelia was friends with some people he didn't quite like, but he had a hard time thinking that anyone associated with James Moretti had the mental capacity to break into Justice League headquarters. They didn't have a motive.

There was also the matter of her recent business with Luthor, which is what really worried him the most. It wasn't the first time her family had collaborated with LexCorp and so far everything looked to be perfectly legal, but just the thought of her associating herself with him made Dick uncomfortable.

In summary, Amelia VanAlstyne was a pain in the ass and made plenty of bad life decisions, but she wasn't a bad person. He didn't want to get her in trouble when he still wasn't completely sure what was going on. Not that there was any concrete evidence definitively saying that it was actually her, seeing as she'd been sure to wear _his_ fingerprints and had taken the care to smear them _everywhere._

It had taken him hours to wipe everything free of prints. She'd touched literally everything she could get her hands on, probably just to spite him. No door handle, table top, or toilet flusher had escaped her grasp. He could only imagine what the inside of the Watchtower looked like, but that was something Bruce would have to take care of. Dick had been temporarily denied access to the zeta-tube network because it was _his _identity she had decided to use to gain entry.

Not cool. Not at all.

He'd had enough of Amelia for one night, but he wasn't going to write her off as a lost cause just yet. They had been friends, and he owed it to her to try to take care of things without getting everyone else involved if possible. She wouldn't last a day in prison. She may talk a big game, but she was just as vulnerable as anybody else. Probably even more.

So, maybe he'd hacked into her therapist's computer. That didn't make him a bad person, just concerned. He hadn't wanted to violate her trust by hounding her with questions after she had told him to leave her alone.

Since he'd boarded the plane he'd been in almost constant contact with Tim and the rest of the team. Everything was going pretty well on their end, thankfully. No one had been hurt, and they'd been able to capture most of the minor escapees. It was the big guys, the ones that still had contacts on the outside, that they still hadn't been able to find. They were also the more dangerous of the criminals, ones he wasn't comfortable leaving the team with to find themselves.

There was no way they were going to find everyone tonight. Some of the top-tier criminals had probably gotten far away from Gotham, maybe even half way across the globe by now. This had probably set the League back weeks, if not months.

The sun was finally starting to rise, which cast an eerie red glow on the white interior of the asylum's hall. The inside of the cells were darkened, as they hadn't yet been able to restore power to the building, but he could catch a glimpse of the occasional fuzzy halo of light caused by a streetlamp below. The entire back wall of this wing had been blown to pieces, leaving the cells completely exposed. By now, all of the inmates had climbed down and found their way to freedom. _Temporary freedom_.

Quinzel. Falcone. Isley. This wasn't good at all. After a while he stopped bothering to read the names. All of their cells were empty, which wasn't surprising in the least. He rubbed his throbbing temple. Everyone was gone.

He was just about to tell himself that there was no way that this day could possibly get any worse, when there was a low, male chuckle down the hall. Apparently he spoke too soon. He took a few cautious steps down the hall and peered around the corner. He could see a dark shadow from behind the small, glass window in the cell door.

He wasn't alone. His muscles tensed, preparing for the worst.

"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

That was a stupid question, he soon realized, as there was a name tag on the door. _VanAlstyne. _He had to stop himself from groaning out loud.

A set of familiar, grey eyes appeared through the window in the door. Charles smiled in a way that made Dick feel instantly uncomfortable. "Tell me, does that mask of yours impair your vision, or does the Justice League not require literacy amongst its members?

If Dick never had to deal with a sassy VanAlstyne ever again in his life, it would be too soon.

"It's dark," he started, before realizing that he probably shouldn't give Charles the satisfaction. It was all just part of his game. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my cell. I've been sentenced here for life. Where else would I be?"

"Why haven't you run off?" Dick rephrased. "Shouldn't you be somewhere off the coast of France by now?" If Dick blew the lock on the door, he could get a set of handcuffs on him. Charles seemed calm, though, and in no rush to run away. Still, he wasn't going to take the chance.

"I've never been particularly fond of heights," Charles explained while examining his fingernails, "and I find France terribly overrated."

Dick placed the charges on the door. "Stand back," he ordered. Why hadn't anyone come up here to get him? Had they been stupid enough to just assume that everyone would have escaped without checking? Once they blew, Dick quickly forced the door open and handcuffed Charles to the cell door. The old man was totally compliant, even offering his wrist. "What are you up to?"

"Me? I'm not a schemer like the rest of them." Charles rolled his eyes in the direction of his fellow inmates' empty cells. "I merely have hobbies."

Hobbies that just so happen to include kidnapping, torture, rape, and murder. Dick's stomach churned.

Dick was just about to leave to go call a guard when Charles continued, "I also have a strong sense of self-preservation."

Self-preservation? What was that supposed to mean?

It was a test. Charles knew he had Dick's attention. He shouldn't play into his game, he couldn't. But could they really afford to be blindsided again? He gritted his teeth, no. "What did you say?"

Charles yawned. "I really am exhausted, sir. Would you mind calling someone now? I would hate to catch a cold and end up wasting the taxpayers' hard-earned money. I think you can agree there's no justice in that."

Charles wasn't the only exhausted one, and Dick wasn't about to let himself be manipulated into doing exactly what Charles wanted. He'd already been manipulated enough for one night. He grabbed the front of the older man's shirt in his fist and growled, "What's out there that's got you so scared, huh? Tell me."

"Tit for tat, young man."

"I don't negotiate with criminals."

"Then you get nothing."

Charles produced a folded piece of paper from within his shirt. Apparently he _had _gone off somewhere, but had returned without getting caught. How well-connected Charles was never ceased to amaze him. When Dick had first done his research on the man, it had been almost impossible to find a police officer or judge who hadn't been completely at his beck and call.

"Give this to my granddaughter, and I might consider helping you."

Dick eyed the slip of paper warily. Amelia would never accept the letter, not that he really had to deliver it. He could just throw it away. He could even read it himself, to see what sort of information it contained. After a moment of deliberation, he snatched it from Charles' hand. "Fine, then. Tit for tat, old man. Clock's ticking."

Charles shrugged. "There's someone coming to Gotham, someone who I'm not overly fond of. In fact, I very much believe that I am safer behind bars for the time being."

"You're not fond of them, or they're not fond of you?"

"I believe the feeling is mutual."

Dick's lips tugged downward into a frown. Was this letter going to be worth it? "Who 's coming to Gotham?"

"Do you honestly think he'd be alive right now if I knew his name?"

No. He had a point.

"Why is he coming?"

"I don't think you've earned that, yet," Charles smiled.

Dick bit his lip and leaned over Charles the best he could. "Why are you so afraid of him?"

"Because I'm on a list, and after he's done with me he will kill everyone that I love. And, despite everything, I would really rather not die."

The sick feeling was back in his stomach. For someone who had killed so many defenseless women, he was awfully concerned about his own life. The fear was what made it easy for Dick to forget what Charles had done sometimes. "You don't love anyone. Not that there's anyone left for you tolove, your wife jumped off the top of a skyscraper to save herself the shame of having _you _for a husband." The words were harsh, and if they had been said to anyone else but Charles VanAlstyne, he might have felt a little guilty. But this man didn't deserve anyone's pity; he was a monster.

Charles didn't react the way Dick had expected, he actually smiled. "You're not going to be able to stop him from coming. You're not going to be able to save everyone. So, young man, you had best start thinking about which of your precious little friends is expendable. Because when he gets here, he's going to burn you."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late update, my schedule has been crazy and this chapter ended up giving me more trouble than I had anticipated. Thanks everyone!


	13. Part 2, Chapter 7

Amelia sat on the couch, her face clean from finally being able to scrub off the many layers of make-up that had been covering it. She tugged her hairbrush through the knots that had formed at the end of her long curls in the shower. So far it had been a quiet night, and luckily she'd received no angry messages from Richard.

Waving to him had been a stupid, impulsive thing that she'd regretted immediately after she'd done it. She hadn't counted on him having the sheer speed it required to be able to run back and actually _catch _her. At the moment she'd thought she was screwed anyway, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she probably would have gotten away with it.

She closed her eyes and pictured his reaction in her mind. At first he'd been angry, so angry that she'd felt her stomach drop and felt more fear than she had in a long time. Then, his jaw had dropped. He'd taken a step back. His head did that thing it did when he was shocked, where he pulled his chin back into his neck.

He knew. There was no question about it.

The police weren't at the door yet, so that was a good thing. She was counting on his noble nature to get her out of this. Would he even say anything, or would he simply try to handle things himself? He thought she was pretty pathetic, which was in her favor. She made a mental note to shed a few tears the next time the photographers were around. After all, fragile little Amelia VanAlstyne wouldn't last a day in jail.

Gag.

"Why the long face?" James slurred as he stumbled in from the kitchen, wearing her mask lopsidedly on his face. It was too small for him, and his eyes weren't even in the right position to see through the holes. He leaned against the doorframe, swinging his glass around carelessly in his free hand. "You did good tonight, Lex'll be real proud." His eyes skated over her for a moment and he frowned. "I don't know why you don't just keep clothes here. I mean, your toothbrush is here. Everyone knows home is where your toothbrush is."

Amelia was floored that James was even conscious, considering how much he'd had to drink. The fact that he was actually stringing together semi-grammatically correct sentences was nearly a miracle. Usually at this point he'd get really groggy and hold onto her in that vice-like grip of his like he was a small child with a teddy bear, but the adrenaline of tonight must have gotten him wound up. She couldn't help the smile that came easily to her face as she shrugged and said, "Don't try to act like you don't like it when I wear your clothes." Besides, men's clothing was designed to be more comfortable than women's.

He rolled his eyes and put the glass down on the coffee table, which she quickly slid a coaster under before the liquid had a chance to drip down from the brim of the glass onto the wood. If it wasn't for her, the table would be in the trash by now. He tossed the mask somewhere behind him and started massaging her shoulders, his fingers surprisingly gentle considering his current state of inebriation. "Relax," he whispered into her ear, his voice low. "Whatever's going on, I'm sure it'll all be fine. It always is."

"Thanks," Amelia sighed, sinking into his skilled fingers. He always knew exactly where she was tense. "That means a lot from someone who's had enough alcohol to tranquilize a small horse."

"Are you calling me drunk?" he looked skeptical.

"I'm saying your judgment is pretty impaired, yeah."

"I don't think you know what you're talking about. If I was drunk, could I do this?" James snatched up a lamp from the end table and attempted to balance it on his head, but he stumbled and it quickly fell and shattered on the floor. His lips came together in a small pout. "Oops."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Get over here, you big ape." She figured he would just walk around the couch like a normal human being, but instead he responded by promptly throwing himself over the back of the couch, nearly toppling over on top of her. "Oomph!"

As was a little more his style, James grabbed her by the chin and turned her face toward him. He stared at her intensely, his eyes darting over her face. "I am so thankful, every day, for having someone as amazing as you in my life."

That was so him. The second he took the one shot that would topple him over into a blackout, he was full of grand gestures and declarations of love. When he was sober? Nothing. Not a peep. "Thanks, James."

He frowned. "I mean it, you don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you." Amelia gently pulled him forward and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "How's your dad been lately? Is he still upset?"

"He called me earlier," he shrugged. "He's on edge, but when is he not? He doesn't really know what to do right now. He doesn't know if what you did was good or bad for him yet. I don't know." He let out a long sigh, "I don't know. I don't want to talk about him."

Amelia was a second away from telling him he didn't have to. His father was always a sore subject for him, and he was in such a good mood tonight that she didn't want to ruin it. But he didn't give her the chance. His hand snaked around to the back of her neck as he pulled her close. He hesitated for a moment, just long enough for her to be able to catch the scent of alcohol and cigarettes in his warm breath, and pushed his lips up against hers lightly. It wasn't until she wrapped her arms tightly around the back of his neck, winding her fingers into his hair, that his response became more heated and demanding. He pulled up the back of the white, oversized shirt she'd stolen from his closet so he could trace light circles on her spine with his fingertips. Her shoulders shook with an involuntary shiver.

Needless to say, she was surprised when he flinched away like he'd been burned the second she slipped her hands under his un-tucked shirt and reached up to touch his chest. He pushed her away from him with a sudden intake of breath. "Stop."

"What's wrong?"

James shook his head. "Nothing."

She could still feel the way his muscles clenched beneath her fingers. She frowned. "No, it's not nothing." She started unbuttoning his shirt and was met with only feeble resistance, probably because the effects of the alcohol were starting to sink in more.

"Stop it," he whined and dropped his head, but made no real attempts to stop her. His chest, all the way down and around his side was covered in deep purple bruises that were obviously painful to the touch. She remembered the ways she had grabbed him or leaned up against him throughout the day, how much had that hurt him? Why hadn't he said anything?

"How did this happen?"

His head rolled to the side and he slurred, "Nothing happened."

Similar to what he had done to her earlier, she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. He averted his eyes, staring somewhere over her shoulder. "What happened to you?" she demanded.

"Lacrosse."

"You're lying." Amelia flew up, leaving him alone on the couch. "Why didn't you tell me? Your dad did this, didn't he? Jesus, James, why do you let him do shit like this to you? You're twice his size, you know that, right? Why don't you just tell him no? Is your mother okay? Did you even check?"

She thought she had issues, but after she'd met James's father she'd been thankful for her non-existent relationship with her mother. Things could be worse. The man was the definition of "douchebag".

"Shut up." James stood up to tower over her. He was angrier than she'd seen him in a long time. "Shut up," he repeated in a low growl. "Why do you always have to act like you know everything? What's wrong with you? Seriously, sometimes you're just so _fucking _annoying," he was screaming in her face at this point with such ferocity that she found herself taking a step back. "Fuck it! Why don't you just march up to him and let him know, huh? Why don't you, since you're such a self-righteous little bitch? You can do that for me, right, since I'm obviously so incompetent?"

His fists clenched and unclenched, and Amelia began to wonder how things had taken such a bad turn. She was worried for a second that he might hit her, but instead he picked the glass up from the table and tossed it against the far wall. The brown liquid stained the light grey walls as it trickled down.

"Damn, Amelia. Why do you always have to ruin everything?"

She could think of a few snarky remarks, but she didn't want to upset him any further. Instead, she sat down and stated calmly, "James, you're scaring me."

He looked like she'd dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He stood there for a moment, silent and dumbfounded. "I'm sorry," he eventually said, looking like a child who had just gotten yelled at for doing something bad. He stared down at his hands. "I would never hurt you. You know that, right?"

No, she didn't. She'd seen him snap and get into fights dozens of times. Half of the time he didn't even know what he was doing until afterward, when he'd been pulled off of the poor guy by someone twice his size. She'd never seen that anger directed at her before, though. She shrugged.

The self-hatred was visible on his face. "God, please don't think that. I can't imagine… you make me… you make everything bad about me disappear," he stumbled over his words, both because he was drunk and because he was flustered. He buried his face in his hands. "I won't be like him, I won't. I'm not."

One look at him and she caved.

"You're not," she sighed, pulling him close into a tight hug. "I know you're not. It's time to go to bed, okay? It's late."

He nodded and responded by holding onto her in that tight, vice-like grip that she was more accustomed to. She prayed silently to herself that he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.

* * *

Amelia twirled the thumb drive around her fingers and leaned back in Lex's desk chair, her legs crossed up on top of the paperwork covering his desk. "Now," she asked, "what have we learned from this experience?"

Lex rolled his eyes. "I will never doubt you again, my dear." His gaze followed the drive, and she could tell that all he wanted to do was pluck it from between her fingers.

It wouldn't hurt to taunt him a little longer. "You know, I almost got caught by the incorruptible Nightwing himself. I think that doubles, maybe even triples the price."

"You were never in any _real _danger. As you said, the Justice League and those associated with them are incorruptible, harmless. Their bark is much worse than their bite."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Amelia sighed wistfully. She didn't doubt for a second that Lex would love for her to get arrested, because then he could finally find out who she was. He hated not being able to figure it out, but she'd taken so many precautions that it was impossible for him. "I wonder how much Moretti would pay for this? I hear they have a rodent infestation over on his home turf, and I'm not talking mice I'm talking the little bastards with wings, you get me? So I'm pretty sure he'd pay me a pretty penny to get _that _thorn out of his side."

"Why do I get the feeling you're giving both of us the same speech? How do I know you don't have multiple copies?"

"You don't," she shrugged, "but what was this about trusting me? Didn't you say you were going to start doing that from now on? Sweetheart, I'm hurt." She tapped her chest right over her heart, "You're hurting me."

He stared at her for a long time. "One and a half, and I give you full authority over everyone I have in Gotham. You'll own the city overnight."

"Two and a half, I already own the city. It stinks and your cronies are dumber than bricks."

"Fine. I suppose I can up it to two, because I like you. You've always been good to me. And many of my _crones _are Ivy League graduates."

Amelia leaned forward in the desk and folded her hands in front of her. She spoke slowly and enunciated every syllable carefully. "I don't think you fully understand how little I care about your politics and all the cities you own, so I'm going to clue you in. You can give me Gotham, but I will burn it to the ground along with your Ivy League shitheads. I'm upping my offer to three times our original deal because you're annoying the fuck out of me. That's final. I like you, Lex. Don't make me walk away."

Lex sighed and pursed his lips, but eventually nodded. It wasn't like he could refuse information taken directly from the Justice League databases. Anyone would pay to get their hands on it. She could think of a few countries that would pay a much heftier price than Lex just to get a peek of half the data it contained, which was precisely why she was upping the price. It would just look bad if she didn't.

He had never done her wrong before, and he had no reason to start now. Amelia tossed the flash drive across to him. "Give me the details when your nerds from the Ivy League are done checking it out. I just clicked on anything that looked interesting."

For a split second he looked annoyed, but his calm mask quickly returned to his face. "Of course." He glanced down at the drive between his fingers, probably wondering if he got anything worthwhile. "What did you 'click on', may I ask?"

"You're not getting vacation photos from Mars, if that's what you're wondering. Which I found, by the way." She was distracted by the screen on her work phone lighting up, which was strange because she usually never got text messages. She preferred to communicate through calls.

She peered over at it, receiving a judgmental eyebrow raise from Lex. It read: _I had a dream about you last night. Hurry back so I can tell you all about it. _She recognized the number, it was James. He'd probably just woken up, which sounded about right because it was four in the afternoon.

She would kill him. She didn't even know _how _he had managed to get this number.

"Sorry," Amelia cleared her throat. "Well, I can tell you the project file was called 'Project Eden'. A little overdramatic and a bit too biblical, but it's totally up the League's ally. It sounded big."

Lex frowned and inspected the drive in his fingers like he could figure out something just from looking at it. Probably looking for fingerprints while he was at it, knowing him. "It does. I'll send it out immediately, stand by for further information. I'll let you know what's going on as intelligence comes in."

"That's sweet."

He smiled. "I know how you like to be kept involved, and—" Amelia's phone started vibrating; she was getting a phone call. "Do you need a moment?"

With a grimace and a vow to pummel the idiotic man into the dust the next time she saw him, she nodded and darted out into the hall.

"_What_?" she whispered, "You better have a really damn good reason for calling me on this number—how the hell did you even get it, by the way?—or I'm going to slaughter you."

"It _is_ important."

"Well then, what is it?" She tried to imagine scenarios—had his father decided to take advantage of the League's predisposition?

"I'm making dinner reservations, and I need to know if you'll make it back before seven."

Amelia buried her face in her free hand for a moment. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm working."

"Working up an appetite, I hope. I'm thinking we could try that new little place, the one that awful critic just gave a five-star rating."

That awful critic just so happened to be his own sister, but she wasn't about to humor him. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Do you know how much trouble you could get me in? What if they trace this? I'm going to need to get a new phone now."

"That's the white one, right? It's a shame. I liked that one. Anywho, would you mind waiting a moment? I have the restaurant on the other line."

He was completely unremorseful, not to mention impossible. Exasperation didn't even begin to cover it. She snuck a peek out to see Lex watching her curiously, probably wondering what was making her so angry. She could only imagine how red her face was. It was time to go. "I can't deal with you right now. And we are most certainly _not _going to dinner."

"What?!"

"I have business plans."

"All this business, it's so _boring_." He groaned loudly. He was silent for only the briefest of moments before his tone improved, and he asked, "What color underwear are you wearing?"

Amelia hung up.

Lex eyed her suspiciously. "Do you need to go? If so, that's alright. I was just about done with you, anyway."

She took a look at the time. She _did _need to get ready for her actual dinner plans. "Yes, actually. I'll catch you on the flip side, love."

It didn't take her too long to drive back to her home, and when she did she quickly tossed her ridiculous outfit and mask onto her bed and donned more business-appropriate attire. She took a moment to glance back at the mask—when had she _really _started feeling comfortable using it?

She'd always hated masks, even before she moved to Gotham. People who could do things anonymously weren't famed for their kind acts. Yes, there were always going to be groups of people like Dick or Bruce who used their hidden identities for good, but most people weren't like that. If you look at the internet, how many _nice _anons would you find trolling message boards everywhere? None. The majority of humanity was horrible, cruel, and selfish. For a while she'd been afraid of becoming just like them, though she'd never quite decided if it had been the prospect of being cruel that bothered her or the idea that she would be _normal._ She certainly didn't want to be normal. She didn't want to be a part of the "rest" of humanity. She didn't want to be cruel, either, and she knew she had a large capacity to do so.

There had been something about Charfield leaving, though. She stopped caring if she was cruel or normal like everyone else. In the beginning, she had welcomed the anonymity. She'd used the mask to hide. In retrospect, wearing it so soon was probably a mistake. She'd done countless things that now all she could do was regret. She'd failed out of school entirely. Catwoman had been blind to her foolishness until after she had done some things so bad they were even against Catwoman's moral code.

It had taken her a while after that to trust herself, but necessity had called and she found herself drawn to it once again. She didn't mind it so much now that her life was in order. She was even taking classes online to catch up with her graduating high school class.

Still, she had a lot to make up for.

Amelia took a glance at the time and rushed out the door after chucking the suit and mask into the back of a drawer somewhere. How long had she been staring at it? Minutes, at least. _Stupid._

She may have forced Felix to drive a little faster than he normally would have liked, but she made it to the meeting on time. She was nervous, convinced that she would never get used to it. Her heart fluttered up into her throat and opening the door took some willpower.

She felt like everyone looked up at her upon entering, when in reality it was probably only three or four people. She walked straight to the back table, where she always went. He was there early, as he always was. He was reading a newspaper this time, which he held up stiffly.

Their waitress came by and asked if he would like a glass of wine. She didn't ask Amelia. In fact, Amelia doubted that the waitress even noticed she was there at all. He sent her away with what had to have been a dazzling smile, she couldn't tell because the newspaper obscured his face, because the waitress' face turned a deep red and she hurried away, grinning ear to ear.

"So," he started, "have you heard about this business with Arkham? It sounds dreadful. I'm thinking of starting a relief fund. Can you just imagine how poorly the Justice League must be doing? I hear they got most of those crazies, but it took them all night." He set the paper down on the floor with a groan, which was made much less convincing by the broad smile on his face. "Exhausting just to read, honestly."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "I'm sure the League is handling it quite well, Mr. Wayne."

* * *

A/N: I'm only taking 12 credit hours this semester, which means I have more free time than I know what to do with.

This chapter wasn't too heavy on the cannon characters, but more are coming! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!


	14. Part 2, Chapter 8

"You're probably right," Bruce chuckled to himself quietly. "The League is the best at what they do, you've got to give them that."

"I don't know," Amelia shrugged. "Optimistically second best, I'd say. A little bird told me there was a break-in the other night at some supposed top-secret headquarters of theirs. It's an awful coincidence, really."

"Funny, a disheveled 'little bird' told me the same thing."

"Has he told anyone else?"

"No. I don't think he's going to, either." Bruce shook his head, "After everything, he seems to think he can change you for the better."

"You'd think I'd be a lost cause by now," she laughed and cracked her fingers, leaning her arm over the back of her chair. "Especially after I flat out told him to go fuck himself and dumped his motorcycle in the shittiest section of D.C. I could find on short notice."

"Apparently not."

Amelia had to admit that she was surprised by Dick's heavy devotion to a friendship she had spent so long trying to convince him didn't exist. But then again, it made sense. Dick didn't seem like the kind of kid to give up on anyone. She would have thrown her ass in jail by now if she was him. "So no cops?"

"No cops."

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was to get arrested. Not only would it be a pain, but it would ruin everything they'd worked for up to this point. Not to mention that orange totally wasn't her color.

"But," Bruce continued, "you might want to throw the kid a bone. He won't say it, but he's still pretty worked up over lying to you about Charles. He's learning, but he still doesn't know how to let guilt go yet."

She shook her head. "I don't think that's ever going to happen. If I have to hold the fact over his head for the rest of his life to get him to behave the way I need him to, I will. And I won't feel bad about it."

Bruce's lips tugged downward and rubbed the back of his neck. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he almost looked annoyed. "He's under a lot of pressure right now, more than you know. At least try to act like a decent human being. I don't know, volunteer at a children's hospital or something. Let him think he's getting through to you."

"No. That's completely out of the question. He doesn't think I'm capable of keeping myself in one piece." Amelia took a moment to glance around and make sure they weren't gaining any unwanted attention, then leaned forward and hissed, "How do you think Lex would take it if he found out his little assistant has a Justice League bodyguard, huh?"

Bruce knew she was right, but he didn't say anything else about the subject. It wasn't like Amelia _wanted _to be so mean to Dick, but he made it so that she had to. He smothered those he cared about. If she let him think that even the faintest friendship with him was possible, she'd instantly be monitored and coddled.

Lex Luthor was a scary, paranoid man. The last think she needed was for him to trace her back to Nightwing. If he even got the least bit suspicious, she would be dead. Seeing as she wasn't trying to die any time soon, Dick would just have to suck it up and deal with a little guilt for the time being.

After all, it wasn't like _he _was the one rubbing elbows with the most dangerous people on the planet on a daily basis. She wasn't the least bit sympathetic about the supposed stress she was putting him under. He would survive. He may hate her, but at least he would be alive.

Bruce cleared his throat. "So, I'm guessing your all-access pass worked properly? Did you run into any problems?"

Amelia shook her head. It had taken Bruce a long time to work out a way to hack into the system he himself had spent so long fortifying. There was nothing left for anyone to trace back to her, not even a hint. The rest of the Justice League would have no idea she had even been there. "Processing took a little while, but it worked. You had me worried. For a second, I thought it was a trap."

He was quiet for a moment, and something told her that she hadn't been the only one worried. Bruce was a notorious worrier and anal micromanager, he still didn't trust her. Then again, it wasn't like he didn't have reason not to. The League had had its own troubles with spies lately, based on what Selina had told her. Amelia was never able to weasel any information out of Bruce, but it was always really easy for Selina, who was obviously much better at manipulating males. Or whatever her relationship with Bruce was, she'd never asked. She didn't really _want _to know.

She didn't blame him for not trusting her at all. After all, she _had _completely wiped the League databases on everything they had about her while she had access to their systems.

She was helping them, it didn't hurt to ask for a little something back in return.

If that really was what he was thinking, it didn't show. "It took a really long time to wipe all of Dick's fingerprints from everything, by the way. You're lucky I don't charge by the hour. You'd be broke."

"Doubt it. So, are you going to give me the details about this garden of yours or are you going to make me wait to find out?" She shrugged, "You know how I hate to be kept waiting."

He looked skeptical. "It might be better if your reaction is genuine."

"I think you'll find that I'm a pretty good actress. I fooled your little friend, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Bruce looked hesitant for a moment and glanced around nervously. He eventually sighed and gave in. "It's not real, for starters."

"Whoa," Amelia's jaw dropped. "Hold the phone. Really? You've got to be fucking kidding me. I mean, next you're gonna tell me the Easter Bunny isn't real and that Jesus was a real dude."

"Jesus _was _a real 'dude'."

"That's not the point," she rolled her eyes. "I'd kind of figured out that part already. Is it all a distraction? Is at least part of it real?"

He gave her a look that said that he clearly wasn't about to tell her the whole truth. "All you need to know is that once he connects it to his computer and starts trying to access the files, big brother will have full access to his entire network and all the information on it."

This time, when Amelia's jaw dropped, it was entirely genuine.

This was huge, like if they were able to finally trace something, _anything _back to Lex he could be arrested. LexCorp would go out of business, and half of his customers would probably go to Wayne Enterprises where Bruce could monitor them heavily for illegal activity. Everything illegal that Lex was involved in would suffer, if not cease to be entirely due to lack of funding.

This wasn't local anymore. This would cut down on global crime. What was _she_ doing in the middle of all of it?

Not to mention the fact that it would put a large target on her back. With Lex gone, she'd be the next one criminals would go to because she didn't have the Dark Knight inspecting their every move. She didn't really care what they did with their time and money. She didn't care who won in the grand scheme of things, as long as she was left alone.

Ultimately, it would make her the largest supporter of organized crime in the United States.

She hadn't planned on taking down Lex entirely. She needed Lex. If he went out of business, the Justice League would come after her next.

"I thought the deal was I provide you with enough information to keep you happy so I can get that warm and fuzzy feeling inside every now and again, not this shit."

"Well, _this _is what makes me happy now."

She paused. "Let me rephrase that, because I honestly don't care what makes _you _happy. This doesn't make _me _happy. Is Lex going to find out about the program?"

"Not unless you tell him."

"I'm considering telling him."

"And basically tell him you're a spy in the process? I'm sure he'll take that really well. You can be my guest, let me know how that goes."

Amelia was not happy, not one bit. She crossed her arms across her chest with a huff, only earning an infuriating smile from Bruce. He was right.

She stood up and grabbed her purse. "The only thing that's keeping you safe right now is the fact that any retaliation would trickle down on Richard, Mr. Wayne, keep that in mind. You're mine once he's free from your clutches, so you should probably hold onto him as tightly as possible. I'm not going to be bullied into handing over my company to the League. If that makes me the bad guy, then I hear the Light has pretty good benefits and would just _die _to hear about what Bruce Wayne does in his spare time."

His grin vanished. "Thank you for your services, Miss VanAlstyne."

"You're not welcome."

"You're helping a lot of people."

"Not interested." She pushed her chair in.

"You're helping _him_."

Amelia faltered only a moment before storming out of the restaurant without a second glance.

* * *

Amelia's arms had never burned worse in her life.

They were beyond burning, actually. They hurt. Her muscles shook and quaked. Her knuckles were sore. She was covered with rope burn all down her legs and on her hands.

She blinked through the sweat that stung her eyes. The only thing keeping her from dropping now was the fact that she would probably break her legs from this height. "Can I come down now?" she called.

"What?" Selina asked offhandedly while leaning onto the back legs of her chair, filing her nails. "I don't think I heard you."

"It's been over ten minutes!"

"Poor little kitten, that must be really hard on you."

Amelia gritted her teeth, biting back the string of obscenities that begged to pour out of her mouth. That was, until Selina crossed the room to shake the rope a little, just for good measure.

"Fuck you!" she shouted as she almost fell. Blood seeped between her fingers, and tears prickled in the back of her eyes. "When the hell am I ever going to be doing _anything _like this?"

"Never, hopefully."

"Are you _kidding _me?!"

"Hey!" Selina warned harshly, "if you fall now, it's going to be a hell of a lot worse for you down here when I kick your ass. I guarantee it."

"I don't see how that's possible."

"You're not skilled enough to actually take half of the people you piss off in a real fight, you've got to know that. These people have been training since they could walk. Half of them have metagenes. You need to learn to avoid them; make a quick getaway. A lot of the time that involves rope climbing and holding on for dear life. You'll thank me for this someday."

"I hate you."

Selina shrugged and returned to her chair. "If you bitched less, maybe it would be easier. You're using up all your oxygen."

"The bitching distracts me from harsh reality."

Selina laughed, and was about to say something when Amelia's phone rang in her gym bag. She quickly retrieved the phone, and after a moment of deliberation, called, "You can come down now, if you want. But only because it's work related."

Thank god.

Amelia carefully made her way down and collapsed to the floor. She could barely pick up the phone when Selina tossed it to her. She turned the speaker phone on so she didn't have to hold it in her sore hands. "Hello?"

"I had these really great chocolates imported since you were having a bad day. Well, I think they should be good. My sister says they're great, but she's pregnant again so what does she know—her favorite food is fried pickles right now."

"James," Amelia groaned weakly. She had no sort of patience for this. "I haven't eaten chocolate in two years, I don't know why you would think I was going to start now."

"You were really pissy the other night, I don't know. I figured maybe it was hormonal."

_He means well_, she had to remind herself as she counted down from ten slowly. "Let me get this straight, I'm having a bad day because you think I'm _PMSing, _and you're waving chocolate in my face when you know I don't eat it?"

There was a pause on the other line in which James probably realized his mistake. "I didn't think of it like that."

"Obviously not."

"I don't know why you don't eat chocolate. I mean, you have a great figure. I'm not saying you should become a large Italian woman like my grandmother, but you could stand to gain a few pounds."

At this point, Selina was clenching her finger between her teeth to keep from laughing.

"James?"

"Yes, gorgeous?"

"I need you to understand, in all sincerity, deep down in your heart of hearts, that I would never lift a single finger to change myself in order to make you happy. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes ma'am, and I wouldn't want you to."

"Good answer."

"But does this mean you're not coming over tonight?"

Amelia glanced up at Selina, whose look said that she clearly wanted her to. Amelia's lips pursed. "No, babe, I can't. I have to pick up the dogs, Isabelle's been watching them for like four days now." She wasn't lying, she _did _have to pick up the dogs. She'd gotten them after Charfield had left to keep her company, and they were probably needier than children. "Don't you have schoolwork or something?"

He groaned. "It's so _boring_. I find you much more entertaining."

"I know, I'm sorry," Amelia sighed. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"You owe me big. With all the time I've had to do homework I'll be getting A's soon. You're turning me into a nerd. Do you know what that could do to my reputation?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive. How's lunch tomorrow sound?"

"I get out of class at noon."

"Okay, well, I'll meet you then."

"I guess." She could just imagine the pout on his face. He was such a two-year-old.

"Listen," she was starting to get frustrated, "I _told_ you I'd make it up to you."

"Yeah, but I don't know what that means."

"_Figure it out,_" she hissed as she hung up the phone, partially due to frustration and partially to keep him from hearing Selina's loud burst of laughter.

* * *

Amelia pulled up to the home Isabelle Vega lived in with her aunt and grandfather. It was much nicer than the one she had been living in previously, she had made certain of that. They weren't in the heart of Gotham, where Isabelle needed to be escorted to the terrible public school by her aunt every day. Instead, they were in a furnished, pale blue colonial toward the outskirts of town, Isabelle was now a sophomore at Gotham Academy, and Felix drove her to school every morning.

Despite her close association with Amelia, Belle hadn't inherited Amelia's reputation as an ice queen. There were those who didn't like her because she wasn't a blue blood, but those were only a select few. Honestly, she was the most genuinely nice person Amelia had ever met. Everyone loved her.

Belle must have seen her coming, because she opened the front door and called something to her. Amelia couldn't quite make it out because she was quickly dwarfed by two large, barking Dobermans who bounded toward Amelia at full speed.

Amelia eyed them skeptically as soon as they came to a screeching stop in front of her. "I don't know what you think you're doing, because you're not going home yet," she told them under her breath as she stepped up onto the porch. She tousled Belle's dark curls affectionately as she walked into the house. "Hey, love. How were they? Did they behave? I hope they didn't cause too much trouble. How's school been?"

"One question at a time!" Belle followed her in and flopped onto the couch. She scratched at the smattering of freckles that covered her cheekbones. "Good, yes, and great! I joined the mathletes last week. I mean, I'm the only girl, but—"

"Youjoined the _mathletes_? What?! Who are you?" Amelia's jaw dropped and she sat down next to Belle, who placed her legs in Amelia's lap. "I know I'm not one to talk, but I really don't condone social suicide. Don't follow in my footsteps."

"It's not as bad as it sounds! We just do practice problems and every few weeks we go to a competition and get free cookies. I mean, yeah everyone stares at me because I have boobs, but it's not all _that _bad."

Amelia frowned. Belle was incredibly smart, but she'd always been more interested in her biology, anatomy, and genetics classes. Belle wanted desperately to be a doctor, and Amelia had all the confidence that she would end up as one. However, she'd needed tutoring in math last semester and had constantly informed Amelia about the depth of her dislike for the subject. "I'm just confused because you don't like math."

"I have friends who like math."

"No," Amelia shook her head, "you don't. And don't try to tell me the quarterback of the football team is secretly a mathematical genius. I know his brother. Genetics are not in his favor."

"Fine." Belle's face flushed a deep red. "I guess that I, well, maybe, I might _want _to have friends that like math."

Amelia eyed the younger girl, whose large brown eyes had become fixed on the small tear in her jeans. "Friends," she asked carefully, "or _friend_? Isabelle Vega, is this about a _boy_?"

Belle shook her head wildly, but never looked up. Her ears started getting red.

"It is! You have a crush!" Amelia shoved Belle's shoulder. "Go on, who is he?"

"Do you think I'm crazy?! No, I'm not telling you!" Belle hugged a throw pillow to her face to hide her blushing. "Especially not after what happened last time!"

Amelia gazed up at the ceiling. "I can assure you I have no idea what you're talking about."

Belle gave her an incredulous look, and her eyebrows disappeared up behind her bangs. "You threatened my _friend _who asked me to homecoming. While polishing a _gun_."

"I feel like your father would have been okay with that."

"Yeah, except you're not my dad. Aren't you supposed to help me?"

"Not when they have ulterior motives," she shook her head.

Belle groaned and chucked the pillow at Amelia's head. "You're crazy."

"Hey," Amelia warned as she snatched the pillow out of the air and dropped it to the floor. "Consider yourself lucky. I could be worse, I could volunteer to chaperone."

All the color drained from her face. "Please don't."

"I wasn't actually going to, but I will if I have to." Amelia sighed and glanced over her shoulder at the clock. "Enough about me," she insisted. "Tell me about this boy. How'd you meet him?"

"He's in my genetics class." Belle shrugged and tried to remain casual, but Amelia could still see the dreamy expression on her face. "I don't know, I don't think he notices me. I doubt he knows I exist."

"Now that can't be true, haven't you talked to him?" Amelia may have never been a love-struck teenager, but she knew enough to know that _talking _was usually a necessity in any normal relationship.

"Eh, here and there. He's kind of serious and mostly keeps to himself. But he's _so _nice. Like, unbelievably."

"So he's the tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious type?"

The color crept back up to Belle's face and she nodded. "He's so smart, Amelia, you should see him in class it's amazing. He never gets an answer wrong. He's at the top of our class. And he's not so quiet that he lets people walk over him or his friends, he'll call people out when it's deserved. You know how I envy that. He's perfect."

Amelia had trouble catching up with Belle's quick, jumbled speech for a moment. "You seem to really like this guy. Why don't you talk to him?"

"I'm scared!"

"What's he going to do, punch you in the face? I thought you said he was nice?" Amelia made a mental note to cross check the class list of people in Belle's genetics class that were also mathletes. Unfortunately, there would probably be a lot of overlap. _Nerds._

"He _is _it's just," Belle paused and glanced down at her hands again. "I don't know. How was your charity thing?"

Amelia shrugged. "Boring, as expected. James was on edge all night."

The younger girl frowned. "What do you mean _on edge_?"

"He was nervous, he had too much to drink, we got in an argument—it's really not that big of a deal I promise."

"You know I don't like him." Belle crossed her arms across her chest. "He's just like his father, you know, and I don't think I have to remind you that I'm like ninety-nine percent certain that Moretti Sr. is the one who murdered my father and dumped his body in the river."

"You might be right about his father, but you're wrong about James." Amelia found herself feeling oddly defensive of him and had to remind herself to take a deep breath. "And even if you were right, I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. Don't worry about me."

"I wouldn't _have _to if you weren't dating an asshole claiming that it's good for your _business, _or disappearing for days at a time without any explanation."

"Firstly, I don't have to justify my actions to a high-schooler. Secondly, James and I are complicated, and it _is _good for my business. I know how you feel about him, and trust me I take that into account. However, if James is the monster you make him out to be because of his father, what does that make me? Huh?"

Belle's jaw dropped. "I didn't mean that, you know I didn't!"

"I know," Amelia smiled weakly. "At any rate, I don't think you're fully off the hook. Care to tell me again why you're just _so _nervous to talk to this boy? And don't try to change the subject this time."

"Our friends don't really like each other all that much," she mumbled, rubbing her neck sheepishly.

"Your friends? That's it? Screw them!"

"Well, see," Belle bit her lip and paused for a moment, then continued, "the problem isn't really that any old friend hates his, see, it's kind of the fact that I know _you _hate his friends."

That was when Amelia's stomach dropped, because she knew _exactly _who Belle's mysterious little crush was, and she wasn't happy about it. Not one bit.

* * *

A/N: This involved a lot of planning for part 3 which is what took so long because I was debating on whether or not to actually add the plot with Belle in at all but then I figured, why not? Yay side plots! (Plus, it will be nice to have a point of view to add to the cast in part 3 who is a more honest narrator, unlike Amelia who definitely is _not_. Unless no one likes her.)

Next chapter will probably be centered around Dick!


	15. Part 2, Chapter 9

Dick had been furious with his mentor many times in his life, but very few times had he been _this _angry. In fact, the last time he has been this upset, it had resulted in him moving out of the manor permanently and giving up the title of Robin.

It surprised him that he was still capable of such anger given his current stress level. He'd felt numb for quite some time. It was almost liberating.

Almost.

He slammed the envelope full of photographs onto Bruce's desk, his heart pounding in his ears. Bruce, who had been casually reading the comics section of the newspaper and drinking a protein shake, frowned at the abrupt intrusion and placed the paper down gently. "Problem, Richard?"

_Richard_. He only ever used Dick's full name when he was angry or condescending. Right now he was leaning toward the second option. "Why are you having lunch meetings with Amelia?"

Bruce frowned. "I don't know-"

_Deny, deny, deny. _Dick ripped open the envelope and placed the photos down on the table. Every few months they would meet, periodically, like clockwork. However, he hadn't been able to find any sort of financial interactions between the two companies. "What are you up to?"

"Simple business. I do have an alternative life I need to maintain, you know."

"Bull shit," Dick growled. "You know she works with LexCorp and you're trying to use her as a door to get to Luthor without her knowing. What, did you plant a bug on her or something?" The last thing Dick needed was for Bruce to dig up anything about Amelia's alternative life. He would probably rally up the Justice League and have her sent to Arkham like any other ordinary villain. Or, worse, accidentally tip off Luthor and unwittingly get Amelia killed.

No, the more Bruce stayed away from her the better. She wasn't in the clear until Dick could figure out some way to get her out of the mess she was involved in. While dealing with all the rest of the crap he had to deal with.

He should not be spending his rare day off trying to trace Amelia VanAlstyne's footsteps back to the source of her current troubles. She wasn't being particularly helpful, either. It was almost like she _wanted _to break into the Watchtower, though he knew that couldn't be right.

"Leave her alone. I'm not kidding, Bruce. Leave my friends alone."

Bruce gritted his teeth. "I know you're trying to help, believe me I do. However, you have to realize that the more time you spend in pursuit of this stupid girl the more danger you're putting yourself and her in." He neatened the stack of photographs and went through them slowly, inspecting each one carefully. "Yes, I may be using her because of her pathetic little dealings with Luthor, if you can even call what little business it is that. But I'm doing so as Bruce Wayne. These photographs, how did you acquire them? What would Lex do if he found out that his partner has a trail that leads him directly to the Justice League?" Bruce gave him a long, hard look. "Dick, you're going to get her killed over nothing. You need to stop."

Dick didn't quite know what to say, mostly because he considered himself untraceable. But, what if someone could actually trace him? It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that had happened in the past few weeks. After all, someone had managed to expertly hack the Watchtower. Prior to seeing it happen with his own eyes, he would have considered that impossible also.

Lately he was just being provided with more and more evidence pointing to the conclusion that he wasn't as capable as he thought he was. He was slipping, getting sloppy. He was spread too thin.

But could someone really _die _because of that?

Bruce must have noticed the shocked look on his face because he continued, his expression somewhat softer despite his harsh words, "You're not friends, Dick. I know you want to be, but you're not. You have plenty of other people who care about you, and it would do you good to try to devote some of this attention to them. When was the last time you spoke to Wally? Don't put yourself through this; learn to give up on a lost cause."

He was wrong, right? Besides, even if he was, did it really matter? Even if they weren't friends, that didn't make Amelia any less deserving of help, which he owed to her.

His chin jutted out stubbornly. "I thought we didn't believe in lost causes. Isn't that what we do?" Dick shoved his fists in his pockets and shrugged. "Just leave her alone, okay?"

Bruce sighed. "Whatever you say, Richard."

He was angry this time. Dick paused and rubbed a bruise on his arm he'd gotten the other night sparring with Barbra, not really sure what to say. He was giving in, that easy?

Whatever, he'd take it.

"Dick?" Tim's asked from behind him, surprised. "Haven't seen you here in a while."

"Yeah," he said, probably a little more energetically than he felt. With one last look at Bruce, he turned and tousled Tim's gelled hair. He was still dressed in his school uniform, even though it was pretty late. "Thought I'd come for a visit. How's your dad?"

Tim frowned and turned his gaze to the floor. "He's alright, I guess. He doesn't know I'm here, actually."

That probably wasn't the best topic to bring up. Dick swallowed. It had been the only thing he could think of on short notice. He put a hand on Tim's shoulder. "It'll all be okay, kid."

Tim shrugged and offered a clearly half-hearted smile. "I hope so."

"It always is." Dick glanced at the clock. "I hate to run," he called, half way out the door, "but I'll catch you later. Come over some time, alright? Don't be a stranger."

He really ought to follow his own advice sometime.

This was probably the worst day off ever in the history of days off. Amelia sure had a knack of making those who cared about her work around the clock just to make sure she was in one piece. He couldn't help but feel that he was picking up the slack left behind by that old bodyguard of hers. The two of them had seemed oddly close, which just made his sudden departure all the more strange.

Charfield probably wouldn't have let her do any of the stupid shit she was doing now.

Speaking of the girl's stupid shit, he was running late. She was hosting a huge charity party on her boat for her oaf boyfriend's fraternity. One of those ugly Christmas sweater deals, according to the invitation he'd stolen from someone else. The premise was that the girls would donate whatever they would have spent on a nice dress and come instead in the tackiest sweater they could find. The premise was absurd, of course, as all the girls would probably spend hundreds of dollars on a sweater _and _donate just to show off that their funds could allow it.

He hadn't actually been invited, but he'd been able to gather some mostly-reliable information indicating that a highly influential, international criminal would also be attending. Something told him the whole party was a cover.

It didn't take Dick long to change and get ready, though he had to admit that it did feel a bit strange. The sweater itched and he couldn't quite stop staring at himself in the mirror. Not because he was full of himself, but there was just something… off.

This is why he needed days off. Too much Nightwing, too little Dick Grayson. Even his own name was starting to sound foreign on his tongue.

Of course, the days off would be more beneficial if he didn't have to spend them working.

Sneaking onto the boat was easier than he thought it would be. Everyone was already drunk, so he was able to just walk in with a group of stumbling girls.

One, a blonde, nearly fell over onto her face. Dick caught her by the arm and pulled her upright. "Are you alright?"

"I'm _fine_," she slurred in a light Southern accent. "Do I even know you? I don't think I've seen you around here before."

She didn't give Dick an opportunity to answer, because the lights dimmed and the music started blaring. He could see her eyes light up excitedly in the glow of the red and green light show. "Let's go dance!" She grabbed the front of his sweater in her fist and dragged him into the middle of a large group of his drunken, grinding peers.

He was the only sober one in the room, that was for sure. The girl wrapped her arms around his shoulders and started dancing, pressing her body tightly against his. He had to admit, she was very pretty.

_And very drunk, _he reminded himself and found himself sighing of relief when the song ended and the music cut off completely.

"Hey, bitches, listen here!"

Everyone's attention turned over to where the DJ was set up. Amelia had stolen his microphone and was shouting into it. James stood behind her with his hands on her hips, catching her when she would wobble on her heels. She wore what probably was one of his ties around her neck and in her free hand clutched a half-empty bottle of expensive-looking liquor.

"I spent more on booze for this fucking party than most of you will make in a year," she slurred. She was a good actress, Dick had to admit, but she'd fooled him once already. He wasn't about to be fooled again. He suspected that she was completely sober.

"So," she continued, "you better have a good time. Drink up, sluts."

James pulled her away from the microphone and the music started again, louder this time. Dick watched her disappear into the crowed and wondered for a moment if James even realized she wasn't drunk, because he certainly didn't act like it. Surely he would have smelled it on her breath? Tasted it in her kisses?

He was pulled back into reality when the blonde started kissing his neck aggressively. To be honest, he'd forgotten he'd even been dancing with her.

"This isn't right," he started with a grimace, but she obviously couldn't hear him. He was about to physically remove her when someone tapped his shoulder.

Dick turned, thankful for the distraction.

Before him stood Amelia, with an eerily pleasant smile on her features. It was like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense. He didn't even know how she'd noticed him in the mob of people. Just like he'd suspected, she was totally sober. She stood with all the grace one with a modeling background should possess. "I hate to interrupt, but may I cut in?"

"No, of course not," he said immediately.

The girl he had been dancing with rolled her eyes at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She huffed and turned away, quickly getting lost in all the people.

Dick frowned as Amelia wrapped her arms up around his neck and swayed slowly to a beat that didn't match the rhythm of the song. She was still smiling. He noticed that she was wearing the same shade of lipstick she had been last time they'd seen each other. "What are you so happy about?"

Amelia shrugged. "You have a hickey, that's all."

He was thankful for the dim lighting, because he could feel his face heat up. He felt like he was in middle school all over again.

"I didn't know this was your scene. Is this what do you do on your days off, Grayson? Crash college parties and seduce sorority sisters with your charm?"

He didn't like her accusatory tone and caught himself on the defensive. "You think I'm charming? That's sweet."

"Of course, what I really find charming is your complete disregard for my wishes and the fact that you keep _stalking _me."

"I wouldn't have to _stalk _you, my dear, if you wouldn't break into places you shouldn't and steal things that don't belong to you."

"Stealing? Me? I don't know what you're talking about."

Dick couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you don't. What did you end up taking, anyway?"

"Like I'd tell you." She bit the inside of her cheek. "If your intent was to break into my ship and arrest my client, I'm sorry to say you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"I'm appalled. What kind of a guest do you think I am? I don't even have a pair of handcuffs on me."

She gave him a skeptical look. "I think you're exactly the kind of non-guest who would crash a party in order to arrest _actual _guests. But, as I said, you can forget about it because it won't work."

"Why are you so sure of that?"

"I have my reasons." She glanced down for a moment. "Dick, can I be honest with you?"

He frowned. "Yes."

"I don't want to do this anymore," she said so quietly he could barely hear over the music. "I'm tired."

"All you have to do is _let _me help you."

She looked genuinely surprised. "You'd do that? For me?"

His hands tightened around her waist. "Of course."

With no notice, she pulled him down and pressed her lips against his.

In hindsight, he realized that he probably should have known that something was up. But he didn't. He didn't know what was happening or why, but he wasn't one to complain about being kissed by a beautiful woman.

That was, until he started feeling lightheaded. He pushed her away and reeled back, stunned. "You drugged me!"

Amelia only stared at him breathlessly and wiped the smeared lipstick off her mouth with the back of her hand. His knees buckled and he thought he would fall, but she caught him and half-dragged him over to the side of the room and sat him down in a chair. She was stronger than she used to be. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't open. His vision started to blur.

"The effects should only last about an hour," she said in his ear. "Good night, Richard. Get some rest."

* * *

Amelia stormed into the engine room and tossed the briefcase Lex had given to her down on the ground. It slid across the polished floor until it hit a chrome piece of equipment.

Time to get this over with. She would have an angry Leaguer to deal with within moments and she wasn't trying to deal with two people who would like to see her suffer at once.

A middle-aged gentleman sat across from her in a wooden chair, where he was tied up. One of Lex's cronies he'd loaned her held a gun to his head.

"You Americans don't know much about hospitality, do you?" the man joked in a heavy Russian accent.

She scratched at her mask and sat down in a chair placed opposite him. "I know this seems harsh, but my client doesn't believe in risk. I hope you understand."

"As long as you understand that I'm going to kill you once you let me go."

"You can certainly try, I won't hold it against you." Amelia laughed. "Though I do feel obligated to inform you that as of ten minutes ago if I were to shoot you and dump your body, it would take a few months before it washed up on the shores of Africa. If it wasn't eaten by sharks or dragged to the bottom of the Ocean."

The man swallowed.

Amelia pulled the gun out of its holster on her thigh with a snap. "So let's try to make this as easy as possible, because this is a really pretty floor and I hate to dirty it up. Do you have the missile codes?"

She didn't know why the hell Lex needed missile codes, but she hadn't been about to question him when he'd angrily ordered her to organize a meeting with this man a few weeks ago. She generally tried not to question him too much and much rather preferred to just do as he said without question.

The Russian stared her down for a moment, then sighed and nodded. "My pocket," he said.

Lex's boy was about to reach into the pocket when Amelia lifted a hand to stop him. "If you poison my lackey I'm going to have to hurt you. Not because I'm particularly fond of him, you understand, but out of principle."

"There's no poison, only paper."

Amelia wasn't particularly convinced, but gave the go-ahead anyway. He reached into the Russian's pocket and produced a small notebook, which he tossed to Amelia. She looked through it and frowned. It was all in Russian, which Lex would probably be able to translate, but there was no way to know if she'd been tricked until after she got it to him.

"I tracked you down easily enough the first time, good sir, so keep that in mind if you're trying to cross my client. I will find you, I will get the information the hard way, and then I will kill you. And maybe your family." She motioned toward the briefcase on the floor. "On a more pleasant note, however, you may have whatever is in that case along with your life as a gesture of my client's generosity. Now," she stood, "if you don't mind, I have a party to get back to."

She left quickly enough, leaving Lex's man to clean up and do whatever it was that Lex wanted him to do with the Russian. She never really received the details after meetings were over, she just organized them and got what she needed.

As for the case, Amelia wasn't quite sure what was in it. Lex had been known to simply poison informants after with the contents of his "gifts", but he was also known for being very generous to those who pleased him. She made a great deal of money for her services, for example, not that she needed it. He thought a good reputation encouraged cooperation. He would probably keep the Russian alive just in case he _was _crossing them.

Lex wasn't actually that bad of a guy, to be honest. He would just do what he had to in order to obtain his goals, which is what made him a threat. He had been responsible for far more than one too many of Grayson's injuries to make him an ally, no matter how much she hated Bruce.

She wasn't in the business of punishing criminals and saving the weak, the thought made her sick. But she figured if she could manage to keep Dick in one piece for as long as possible, it might make up for some of her more poorly planned decisions in the karma department.

She slipped out the window and climbed up to the bathroom where she had changed.

Without warning, the lights switched on.

Amelia whirled around to see Dick leaning up against the sink. He rubbed water off of the corner of his mouth. It wasn't until then that she noticed how the room reeked of vomit.

"You know," he said, his voice hoarse, "that's not the first time I've been poisoned, and it certainly hasn't been the worst."

Her body froze, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the red stains around his mouth from her lipstick. She tried to shift her gaze up to his face, but it was hard to look away. His jaw was hard-set. He was angry. "Dick, I…" she shifted her weight from one foot to another. If he had just left her alone and minded his own business, she never would have had to hurt him. What was she supposed to say, that she could explain? Of course she couldn't.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't waste your breath. Bruce was right, you are a waste, aren't you?"

Amelia had to bite her lip to keep herself from shouting _no_. It was hard to restrain herself, especially when the words stung more than she'd expected them to. They resonated in the back of her head.

He was the only one who had never given up on her before, and now there was a selfish part of her that wanted to make him take it back. But at the same time, this is what she wanted. She'd asked for it.

Her lips curled. "Maybe," she shrugged with a smile. However, the act stopped as soon as he stumbled again and nearly hit his head on the edge of the sink. Her stomach dropped as she rushed forward to catch him, sitting him down on the toilet seat. She started to wonder how much poison she'd managed to get in his system and where the closest place was that she'd stashed the antidote. "Are you alright?"

He just stared at her for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face until she noticed that now _he _was the one with the vice grip on _her_ wrists. He threw his head back and laughed. "You're not the only one who can act, VanAlstyne. I've been living a double life for far longer than you have, you might even say I'm a natural performer."

_Shit. _Amelia tried to shake her wrists free. When his grip didn't loosen, the panic started to set in. "What are you doing, Dick?"

"Well," he mused, "first you're going to tell me where you're keeping the criminal. Then we're going to have a little chat, okay? You're going to let me help you."

She frowned. _Stupid._ Dick just couldn't mind his own business, and his hero complex was getting out of control. What happened to the kid with the video games? She started to think that he was long gone in favor of a Bruce 2.0. Her fingers itched to just smack him right in the jaw. "I don't think so."

He stood and pushed her up hard against the far wall. Not hard, but enough to knock some of the wind out of her. "Really?" he asked, towering over her. "You and I aren't exactly on the best terms right now, and I kind of feel like you owe me."

Amelia winced and shut her eyes. Her act was falling apart around her. She needed to fix that, but she really didn't want to hurt him. Especially not after she'd poisoned him, his body probably wouldn't be able to handle it given all the other stresses he regularly put under. However, he gave her no choice.

With a few sudden twists, she managed to lock her legs tightly around his shoulders, then threw her body to the ground to make him fall with a loud _thud_. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing that she would never have been able to pull such a stunt had he been totally sober.

She pinned his arms to the ground and pulled the gun from the holster on her leg. She placed it against his head. "I don't owe you shit. The next time you try to touch me, Grayson," she warned, "you're dead. I don't need help. I don't want to be _fixed_. Now, you're going to leave so I can get changed and we are never going to speak again, understand?"

His only response was a groan. In his defense, she _had _slammed his head against the ground pretty hard. She took it as a positive.

"Good," she continued, "because if you ever ruin this for me I will destroy you and all your little friends with you. Leave. Me. Alone."

Amelia could hear a key turning in the lock, and suddenly the door was open. James walked in and glanced down, a troubled frown etching itself deep into his features. She must have taken longer than she thought, he was probably worried that something had gone wrong. "What's going on?"

Nothing ever went well for her. James would want her to hurt Dick, maybe even kill him. She swallowed. "I was just telling little Richard that he shouldn't be poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Right, sweetie?" She stood and yanked Dick to his feet, shoving him out the door and shutting it behind him before James could suggest otherwise.

Her heart was pounding. That was too close.

"You don't think he could have recognized you, do you?" James asked, carefully removing the mask from her face and placing it on the counter.

"No," Amelia shook her head. "He's way too drunk. Honestly, I doubt he'll remember. He nearly puked on me when he burst in, barely made it to the toilet."

His brow furrowed. "Is that a risk you want to take?"

"We used to be friends. I feel like I owe him that much. Besides, I think Bruce would probably notice that his pride and joy had gone missing." She grimaced. "Along with all fifty or so of his little girlfriends," she added with no small amount of distain.

He responded by pulling her tightly against him. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right." He smelled strongly of cigarettes. He only ever smoked anymore when he was nervous.

"You know, _my_ reputation was nothing compared to what his is now," he mused, playing with the zipper on the back of her suit. "Hell, I'm practically a saint compared to him."

"I feel like any scenario that puts the words 'James Moretti' and 'saint like' in the same sentence is fundamentally flawed."

"That's rude, I volunteer in homeless shelters."

Amelia rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove. "Okay, Mother Theresa, time to go and let me get dressed."

His eyebrows raised and the pout on his face was absolutely juvenile. "I said _practically _a saint for a reason," he explained, "My favorite thing about the suit is taking it off."

She promptly shoved him out the door and locked it, knowing that although he had the key, he would never dare to use it. "_Goodbye_, James."

* * *

A/N: sometimes I write instead of studying for finals.


	16. Part 2, Chapter 10

Amelia could remember stories upon stories of great kings and their rivals and the wars they fought valiantly. She remembered how they struggled to strategize with the information given to them. However, she never once was told the name of the poor sap who was the one to provide the heroic king with such information. In history, no one ever seemed to remember the minor players. It's always the little guys that get screwed over in the end.

Screwed over, and ultimately, killed.

She ran the water and leaned up against the sink. She stared herself square in the eye and took a deep, steady breath. She would find a way out of this. She would find a way to survive, she always did. _Get a grip._

The sound of the water soothed her a bit. Her thoughts drifted to the way James had caressed her cheek softly before she left this morning, whispering in her ear about how stressed she looked and how she ought to take a break from everything. His breath had been warm against her face and smelled of those cheap cigarettes he'd been smoking more frequently. It wasn't the first time he'd implored her to stop, but he'd been getting more insistent about it lately. She wasn't positive, because he'd never said anything, but she was pretty sure it was because she was talking in her sleep again. The nightmares would usually come back when she was particularly stressed. She just hoped she wouldn't say anything she wasn't supposed to. It was only a matter of time before James found out about everything, she'd known that all along. She just couldn't figure out a nice way to say, 'By the way, I'm dating you just so I can spy on your dad', and she'd seen him beat his friends half to death for lies half as bad as the ones she'd told him.

James was right, though. He was, sometimes. Everything had been going so right for so long that she'd gotten cocky. She'd imagined herself a major player in these grand games, the war between the Light and the Justice League. Boy, had she been wrong. She wasn't a player, she was barely even a pawn. She was just a little girl in a tacky designer suit who ended up strangling herself in her own web of lies.

He had her personality pegged more than she realized. Her arrogance and ego had certainly gotten her into a large amount of trouble. She'd strode into Lex's office this morning with all the confidence in the world, ready to give him the missile codes he so desired. She could have given him fake ones, but she decided that Bruce didn't deserve that kind of help from her end, not after all the stunts he'd pulled. She'd figured he needed a lesson on how to properly treat a lady. She'd interrupted his meeting with a few Chinese businessmen, forcing him to apologize profusely in a language she didn't understand. They'd cast her some pretty dirty looks, indicating that Lex was probably lying through his teeth and calling her his crazy heroin-addict niece or something. She took that moment to briefly recall the first time she'd met Richard, he was looking for a Chinese textbook. She'd thought he was just a nerd at the time, but the language was more useful than she'd ever imagined.

After a few clever little quips on her part she'd eventually handed him the codes and was fully prepared to go about her business when Lex decided to reward her servitude with a brief bit of confidential information about some data he'd received from the Project Eden files. He'd been so giddy about it, too. His tone was lofty, as it often was. He thought himself to be better than her. Perhaps he was. "You're the only one I've told, dear," he'd said, "you should feel honored. Knowledge is power, you know." After all, she liked to be kept involved. She was quickly becoming to regret that decision. Honored wasn't quite how she felt.

He then informed her that he'd somehow managed to use some of the data in the file to track down three different containers on three separate ships, Amelia's ships no less, that he believed could be linked to the Justice League. Needless to say, he'd concocted a grand scheme to steal said containers and obtain whatever was inside of them.

The problem was, according to Bruce, there was nothing in the Project Eden files. They were fake. They were simply a virus meant to provide the Justice League with information about the shadier side of Luthor's business while simultaneously forcing her compliance.

Hence Amelia in the bathroom, trying to gather herself before she said something stupid.

How the hell had she wound up here, in an overly-polished chrome bathroom trying to stave off her own crippling anxiety? Her heart was in her throat and her chest felt like there was someone sitting on it. She regretted getting out of bed that morning. She told herself to breathe.

She could ignore the situation entirely and let Lex get the containers, the Justice League be damned. After all, she owed Bruce nothing. He hadn't told her a damn thing about what was in Project Eden. In fact, he'd even lied to her. She should let him suffer. He deserved it.

But that would also be a world of trouble and possibly danger for everyone Bruce had grown to rely on, considering he rarely did his own work anymore. She didn't have a problem with other members of the League. In fact, she quite liked a few of them.

It would also probably mean the deaths of everyone aboard the ships she owned. That wouldn't be good for her financially or morally; she wasn't trying to get anyone else killed on her account.

On the other hand, she could tell Bruce, save everyone aboard the ship, and let everyone get away happy but Lex. However, then it would also be glaringly obvious that there was a rat in Luthor's chain of command. It would also be obvious that _she _was that rat, as she was the only one he'd told about the plan with questionable loyalty. He had leverage on everyone else under his command.

This would lead Lex to trace through all the other minor operations of his that she'd been able to sabotage. He would trace the web back to the very center: her. Which would lead to a very unhappy homicidal billionaire demanding her head on a silver platter. It would also render her completely useless.

Was her contribution important enough that it was worth lives?

Were their lives important enough that it was worth risking hers?

She could hear heeled feet clicking toward the bathroom door and immediately shut off the water. She had just enough time to swallow her emotions before Lex's assistant Mercy appeared at the door, her back straight and arms clasped in front of her. "Are you alright, ma'am? Mr. Luthor saw that you hadn't left in the security cam and wanted me to check on you."

Amelia glanced down at the blonde's hands, which could supposedly turn into guns. Selina had told her that Mercy was a cyborg, a human weapon, but she'd never personally seen her in action. She almost didn't believe it, and regarded the girl with guarded curiosity. "I'm fine, Mercy, thank you. Just feeling a bit under the weather." She smiled. "And you can tell Mr. Luthor that if he decides to scour the bathroom for DNA now he's going to be disappointed."

"I'll pass the message along, ma'am. Would you like me to escort you out?"

"I think I can make it there myself, thanks." Amelia would rather spend as little time as possible with the deadly cyborg.

On the ride back to Gotham, Amelia phoned Bruce, cursing herself as she did it. She wished Lex had just never told her, because she really had no choice now. What was she supposed to do, condemn the crew to death? She knew how Lex worked too well. He would send in a small team on some sort of aircraft or perhaps submarine. They would quickly and efficiently steal the container, eliminate all possible witnesses, and destroy all the evidence. Possibly steal the contents of a few more containers to make it look like a pirate raid, as one container missing appeared suspicious. After all, that was what she would do, and she had been on the offensive end of Luthor's wrath far too many times to be fooled by his supposedly merciful nature. He would certainly slaughter everyone onboard.

She really ought to get rid of this pesky conscience of hers. It was causing her a great deal of trouble. Part of her was hoping that Bruce would decide she was the priority and not go after Lex's men.

"Hello, Miss VanAlstyne?" Bruce answered. The inflexion in his tone clearly indicated that he was confused. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms last time they'd met.

Amelia pursed her lips. "Bruce, _darling_. We need to talk."

"I'm afraid I'm unavailable, my apologizes. If you would like to make an appointment with my secretary—"

"_Immediately_," she hissed. "I don't know who you think you are but I am most certainly not talking to your god damned secretary. Now I'm ten minutes from the manor and I fully expect you to be there or there will be extremely dire consequences. Am I clear?"

"Well, _dear_," Bruce growled the term of endearment. Apparently he wasn't overly fond of her, either. "It seems that our interactions are being monitored and seeing as I would rather not aggravate an already tense relationship, I'm going to have to decline."

Monitored? Amelia sat puzzled for a moment before she realized that Bruce had to have meant Dick. Surely he would never allow her to go see Lex knowing that he was aware that she was a spy, right?

God. Fucking. Damn it. _Richard_.

This boy would be the end of her. She took a calming breath and counted to ten. "To be quite frank, our being monitored will soon be of little consequence. ETA 9 minutes. Goodbye."

Amelia pulled up the collar of her black trench coat against the wind as she made the short walk up the stairs of Wayne Manor. She hadn't been here in how long? Three years almost down to the exact date. It was eerie. She always found herself running up the steps of the Manor whenever she was in trouble, she realized with a frown.

Before she had a chance to knock, Alfred opened the door for her. "I have not seen you in quite some time, Miss VanAlstyne. Please, come inside. Would you like for me to take your coat?"

"Of course, Alfred," she said, shrugging off her coat and handing it to him. "Thank you."

Alfred took her to where Bruce was sitting behind a desk, his brow furrowed. "Now, what is it that you so desperately needed to tell me that you barged into my home?"

The furrow in his brow only increased as Amelia informed him of what had occurred earlier that day. He pulled out a pad and started scribbling down notes. From what Amelia could see it was in some cypher that he had apparently memorized, because she certainly couldn't recognize the strings of letters and numbers he placed together. He was more paranoid than she thought. Probably as paranoid as Lex.

Is this what being at the top did to you? Deteriorated your mental state?

_Well thank _god _I'm not at the top, _she thought to herself with mild sarcasm. It was like witnessing the actions of a mental patient. She shifted in her seat, but couldn't look away. She carefully inspected Bruce as she never had before, and found that he had a few graying hairs mixed in his dark locks. He had dyed them, of course, but they were visible at the very roots. There were bags under his eyes and she could see the faint beginnings of wrinkles in the corners of them.

Although he was still fit, Bruce was an aging man.

What made her more uncomfortable was the fact that Richard was following very closely in his footsteps.

After murmuring to himself for a few moments, Bruce gathered himself and gazed back up at her. He seemed calm again. "Thank you for notifying me, Miss VanAlstyne."

"Amelia," she corrected.

Bruce ignored her and stared her like he expected her to leave or something.

"So," she asked, "what do you plan on doing about it?"

"I think you'll understand that given your current state as a spy I would rather not divulge such information in an effort to prevent being double-crossed."

Amelia actually snorted, but when she realized he wasn't kidding, a ball of fury started unfurling deep in her stomach. "I'm putting my life on the line for you. Everything I've done as of late has been for _your _good."

"And I thank you very much for your consideration, but you have also given me very little reason to trust you as of late."

She recalled her numerous threats against him. He had a point, but he had to know that she wouldn't double-cross him on _this_. Not something so… so… dire. "Seeing as you neglected to tell me that Project Eden was a real thing, I think you owe me something."

He frowned. "Project Eden isn't a real thing."

"Well, then what's in the containers?"

He looked exasperated. "Nothing Luthor should know about," he explained cryptically. "There is no reason he should have knowledge of these shipments. Whatever he says, he certainly did not get this information from the files I gave you."

And given that Bruce had without a doubt noticed the _other _files that were missing from the Justice Leage database—everything they'd had on her, to be exact—it meant that he probably suspected that she had double-crossed him and somehow loaded extra information onto the drive. To be honest, she'd barely been able to find the information on herself. She never would have been able to find any sort of pertinent information without direction, though it did explain his extreme paranoia where she was concerned.

"I didn't—"

"The truth will come to light soon enough," he interrupted. He stood and dwarfed her. "Good day, Miss VanAlstyne."

"Wait," she swallowed, "what are you going to do about me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What exactly."

"He's going to hunt me down, interrogate, and kill me. Surely you have a plan?"

"Please understand that you are not my priority, Miss VanAlstyne. I will come up with a suitable solution to your problem when time allows."

"Are you kidding?" Amelia stood to meet his gaze. "Do you know how many assassins Lex has at his disposal? He'll find me before you decide time _allows_."

"I know fully well that Luthor has numerous assassins at his disposal," he said with a pointed glare and underlying threat. "And when time allows, I will assure to it that you are relocated with an alternate identity."

"_That's _your solution? You might as well bypass witness protection and hand me straight to Luthor with a big red bow."

"I'm considering it."

Amelia let out an annoyed hum. He was impossible. "You know you're just treating the symptoms, right? Not the disease?"

"What are you talking about?"

"All this crime-fighting hero business. You're not going to do any good by getting me killed, someone else will take my place. Someone worse. It's supply and demand. Except that _we're _the disease and you can't just _fix _human nature. What you're doing isn't going to work. Getting me killed will do you no good."

Bruce sighed. "I'm not going to get into a debate on ethics with you, Miss VanAlstyne. _Goodbye._"

With another frustrated growl Amelia clenched her fists and stormed out of Bruce's office. Within moments she was on the phone with Selina, formulating a plan in the back of her mind.

"Amelia? What's wrong?" the older woman's voice was full of some brand of concern that Amelia had never heard from her before. Amelia checked herself and tried to make her tone less… _whiny_.

She clenched the steering wheel tightly with her gloved hand. She relayed the information to Selina, who took it in without asking any questions. "I can't do this," Amelia stressed as she finished. "I kind of just hoped that this part of my life would just go away when I was done with it. I never imagined it ending like _this_. I'm not going to be able to do anything. Ever. I'm going to be stuck in my shitty life pretending to be some fragile broken girl I'm _not. _I'm going to go insane."

"Until we get you a new costume and voice manipulator."

She hadn't thought of that. It calmed her a little.

She came up to a sudden stop sign and had to slam on her breaks when she realized something she'd forgotten before in her haste. "_Shit!_"

"What? Are you driving? What's going on?" The concern was returning, she'd probably heard the squeal of her tires.

"Yes, but I just realized… James knows about me. When Lex puts out a hit on the woman in black, he'll know that's me."

"He _what_?!"

Amelia wanted to roll her eyes, but she felt too heavy and exhausted to do so. "It's not like I could hide it from him. We're together all the time, as per your request. He just noticed."

She didn't know the details about when this would happen, but very soon James would know about her status as a mole. He was smarter than many gave him credit for, he would easily put two-and-two together and realize that she had been tricking more than just Lex. The back of her eyes prickled and she was overcome with some emotion she couldn't quite place. It wasn't fear or regret, it was just dark. Like she was carrying around her own little storm cloud as the life she had built so carefully fell to pieces around her.

"Well," Selina sounded resigned, "let's just hope that you have him wound around your finger tight enough to keep his mouth shut."

The hope provided Amelia with very little optimism. However, she did realize a way that she could make it out of this intact.

She just wondered if she was digging herself in too deep, and how many more boundaries she had left to cross before she truly became the villain Bruce made her out to be.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys!

Also, I'm reasonably certain that there should be just 4 more chapters until the conclusion of this part! Whew! When I started this I certainly hadn't anticipated it being a 100,000 word fic. I have so many other things I can't wait to write when I'm done with this monster. (If anyone cares: I have a Treasure Planet fic planned already and then I may do something Tim Drake related with a short Wally story thrown in there somewhere.)


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